


One Good Turn

by Bethann, Susana Rosa (SusanaR)



Series: Teenaged Faramir AU of AU of Legendary Friendship and Desperate Hours AUs [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Corporal Punishment, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Friendship, Gen, Illustrated, Spanking, Teenage Legolas Greenleaf, teenage Faramir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2018-11-06 00:20:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 43,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11024640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bethann/pseuds/Bethann, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SusanaR/pseuds/Susana%20Rosa
Summary: It’s hard to be a teenaged hero. Even when you’re just trying to do a favor for your friends!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N 1: For this story, we’re using the background of both Minnie and Beth’s Legendary Friendships AU (i.e., Legolas is a teenager in elven terms, and Gimli agreed to serve as his guardian during the Quest and after) and my Desperate Hours AU (i.e., Faramir is Aragorn’s son, but Aragorn doesn’t know that), with the twist in this story that Faramir was born in Third Age Year 3001, and is only 18 years old at the end of the Ring War rather than an adult. Eowyn is also younger, 20 years old instead of 25. Everyone else is the same age as in canon. The age of majority in Gondor is the age of 20. 
> 
>  
> 
> In this AU, Boromir and several other young officers were badly injured in a skirmish when Boromir was twenty-two years old. Boromir’s death seemed imminent, so Finduilas and even Denethor sent messengers out searching for Thorongil, remembering his skills as a healer. Aragorn, resuming his identity as Thorongil the sell-sword, came to Gondor and healed Boromir. Faramir was born a year later. For more background information on either main AU, see the AO3 page on the joint series: http://archiveofourown.org/series/26487 
> 
>  
> 
> A/N 2: The “net ball” game that the squires and off-duty guardsmen are playing in this story is a combination of lacrosse (size of the ball and sticks with nets on the end); soccer (players can keep the ball in the air with any body part except their hands even if they don’t have the right angle to catch it with their stick); and basketball (instead of a large goal, there are small baskets that the small rubber balls have to be shot into, and no goal keepers). 
> 
>  
> 
> A/N3: This story was originally planned to be ready for Minnie to read shortly after her surgery as a gift from Susana and I, but it grew and grew and also both of us had our own separate stuff going on that made it take longer than we intended, so now it can just be a congratulations on good news gift! I also thought you might miss new adventures from Legolas while you weren’t up to writing Minnie, so I’ve changed my usual perspective and written from Legolas’ point of view for a change. I am sure I can’t write him like you do, but I hope you enjoy anyway! 
> 
> When we were in the planning stages we made a list of what should be in a cheering up/distraction story and we came up with the following:
> 
> Gratuitous nudity of attractive males  
> Noble intentions gone wrong  
> Reckless behavior  
> Gratuitous detailed spanking scenes  
> FLUFF!
> 
> We think we’ve managed all of these elements and hope you all enjoy!

[Faramir POV] 

There are a precious few magical spring evenings when the breeze is so soft and sweet that it practically begs you to come outside and enjoy it in the golden waning late afternoon sunshine. Or so thought Faramir, the eighteen year old Steward of Gondor and newly-made Prince of Ithilien. 

Unfortunately, Faramir was stuck inside on this fine spring evening. As the voices of the lords, guild leaders, and other special members of Gondor’s council droned on into the eighth hour of what had been scheduled to be a five hour council session, Gondor’s young Steward found himself gazing wistfully out the open windows toward the large gardens adjoining the Court of the White Fountain. What had captivated his interest for the last half hour was a pick-up game of net ball being played between the Citadel’s squires, most of them the teenaged sons and young kinsmen of the council lords, and a group of young off-duty guardsmen. 

A gentle kick to his lower left leg drew Faramir’s attention back to the council meeting. Given the direction of the kick, it had come from King Elessar-call-me-Aragorn, not Faramir’s cousin-by-marriage and temporary regent Lord Hurin. 

“So, to sum up my lords and ladies and gentlemen,” Aragorn the King said in his quiet, patient way, “Those of us gathered here today have decided to accept the proposed contract between my Lady Wife our Queen Arwen and the Kingdom of Gondor, as drafted by our good Lord Steward Prince Faramir. Under this contract, Queen Arwen will use her own personal funds to finance the building of schools and gardens throughout the city of Minas Tirith, in exchange for Gondor’s allowing my bride and her kin reasonable input into the structuring and running of such schools and gardens.” 

The querulous old Lord Sendar of the Ciril Vale frowned at that, and Lords Andasond and Tarsten muttered darkly. But blessedly the King’s motion carried with more than a three quarters majority when Lord Hurin called the vote. 

Arwen the Queen, her lovely features flushed with triumph and her gray eyes luminous with gratitude, nodded her thanks to Faramir from her seat perfectly across the round table from Aragorn. 

Beside Aragorn sat Faramir to his right, and to Aragorn’s left sat Faramir’s cousin Prince Amrothos, who was sitting in for his father Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth. Faramir’s Uncle Imrahil was the King’s most senior advisor and Gondor’s usual Steward-Regent until Faramir came of age at twenty, in a year and a half. 

Blushing both in pleasure at the compliment from the Queen, whom Faramir admired greatly, and also in embarrassment for the King having caught him day-dreaming, Faramir nodded back to Arwen. It was worth all of the many hours Faramir had spent poring over ancient legal precedents and laboring over the wording of that draft contract to have the Lady Arwen be so happy. It was a success for Gondor, as well, even if some of their kingdom’s most obdurate leaders didn’t think so yet. 

Arwen’s cousin Prince Legolas, who had become a personal friend of Faramir’s over the past few months, and his people would do an excellent job with redesigning and enlarging Minas Tirith’s gardens. The war had left those precious green places scarred. And more, it had shown that they were insufficient to producing the food and medicinal herbs that Minas Tirith would need in case it was ever subjected to a siege again. Which, of course, Faramir whole-heartedly hoped that it would not be. But it was best to plan for the worst. 

That, Faramir had learned from Lord Denethor, the old Steward, who was in the eyes of all but a few Faramir’s father by blood as well as name. Faramir knew otherwise, and had since his young childhood, but to wish for that truth to be known was foolish. If Faramir sometimes wondered what kind of father their new King, with his quiet strength and gentle kindness, would have made . . . 

Well, Faramir knew better than to open that particular bag of cats. The King didn’t know the truth, and if Faramir had his way with Chief Archivist Arradon, Aragorn would never know it. The truth was that Aragorn’s loss of memory from the night some nineteen years ago when he’d overindulged in drink after successfully healing Faramir’s older brother Boromir and failing to save several other youths who had likewise been poisoned by orcish arrows had not entirely due to wine, but rather to Faramir’s mother Finduilas drugging Aragorn and taking advantage of him. 

Finduilas’ motives for that betrayal of her old friend had been . . . almost understandable. The frailty of the succession to Gondor’s Stewardship had been made plain by Boromir’s near death. Denethor would still not risk giving his fragile wife another child, so Finduilas had picked the man she felt was most like Denethor for the honor. Denethor had been similarly drugged several nights prior to Faramir’s conception, and so had never questioned that Faramir was his son, however little he’d wanted or valued Faramir. But Boromir and Finduilas had loved Faramir enough to make up for that lack. And even Denethor had never faulted Faramir’s intelligence or work ethic, as little as he’d liked Faramir’s scholarly ways and respect for and association with Mithrandir the Wizard. 

No one, not Denethor, not Boromir, and especially not Faramir, had ever expected Faramir to become Steward after Denethor. But Denethor’s wits had left him after the Ithilien Rangers died to a man on the Pelennor. That had proved, once and for all, that despite their disagreements, and despite even Faramir’s birth being the likely cause of Finduilas’ early death, that Denethor had loved Faramir. 

For Denethor had believed that Faramir had died with the Rangers. He had been too lost in his grief to realize that Faramir was still alive. Even though Faramir had been there in the flesh, pleading with Denethor, just as Prince Imrahil and many of the lords and captains of Gondor had pleaded with him, to return to his senses and lead them through the siege as well as he’d led them through all the years of Gondor’s military buildup. 

But Denethor had remained lost in his fears. And so it had fallen to Faramir to take control of Gondor’s quarreling council and captains. Most of what Faramir had done was merely to force the leaders of Gondor to listen to his Uncle Imrahil and to Mithrandir. But Faramir’s intervention had saved time, and that had saved lives. Sometime during the desperate hours while Faramir worked frantically to help Mithrandir, Imrahil and Gondor’s captains to coordinate Minas Tirith’s defenses, Denethor had leapt from the top of Ecthelion’s tower to his death, still believing both of his sons dead and defeat imminent and inevitable. 

In fact, Faramir had not even been allowed to go out on the doomed sally with the rangers, even though he had been the rangers’ senior surviving lieutenant. The Ithilien Rangers’ commander, Captain the Lord Duilin, had ordered Faramir to stay behind pending reassignment to another division. That reassignment had ostensibly been additional punishment for Faramir’s having defied his father’s and Duilin’s standing orders to arrest the halflings Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee, and to bring them and the One Ring back to Minas Tirith. 

In truth, Duilin had not been that angry with Faramir for that act of treason. No, he’d just wanted Faramir to live. Every single ranger under the age of twenty had been summarily detached by Captain Duilin from his company prior to their last ride, on a similar pretense of pending reassignment due to one or another petty infractions. 

Faramir had always thought that his brother would become Steward, when Denethor passed. But Boromir had died on the Quest. The thought of which still brought tears to Faramir’s eyes, so he quickly dismissed it as the Council moved onto the proposal by the dwarven Lord Gimli and his kin in Erebor to rebuild the great gates of Minas Tirith. 

That proposal prompted immediate and vociferous disagreement from the Guildmaster of the Stone Worker’s guild. Faramir had some sympathy for the man’s position. His guildsmen had to eat after all. But really . . . 

“It was my understanding, good Master Enedon,” Faramir interrupted the man, taking care to keep his tone even and his expression politely neutral, “That Lord Gimli and his fellow dwarves of Erebor have offered to hire masons from your guild to assist with the rebuilding of the Gate. Is that not so, Lord Gimli?” 

“It is,” said Gimli, with a barely civil nod towards Master Enedon, “We’ll include their salaries in the fees we charge the royal purse. But we’re still willing to do the work at cost.”

Lord Gimli left it unsaid that “at cost” was far better than the inflated price Master Enedon and his guild had quoted to Faramir in order to do the work to a lower quality than the dwarves had proposed. Faramir appreciated that. His job as Steward, or ‘chief cat-herder,’ as he thought of it, was hard enough without Master Enedon’s tender pride being stepped on more than absolutely necessary! 

Master Enedon back-pedaled a bit as both Lord Hurin and Prince Amrothos expressed their gratitude for Gimli’s offer, especially given the state of Gondor’s post-war finances. But it did not take long for Master Enedon to come up with another argument. 

“My Lords,” he appealed, “this dwarven hero’s offer is generous indeed, but accepting it would be deleterious to the very pride of the men of Minas Tirith! What shall we say when travelers from afar comment on them! That we were too poor to allocate enough coin to build them ourselves?!?” 

Faramir heaved a sigh and prepared to undercut that specious gambit. But before Faramir could actually speak, a subtle shake of Aragorn’s head advised Faramir to wait. To Faramir’s frustration, there were times that being so young worked against him. The Lords and leaders of Gondor, even the relatively young ones such as Master Enedon, were still multiple decades older than Faramir. They were more likely to listen when someone who wasn’t still a teenager disagreed with them. 

Across the table, Faramir caught sapphire blue eyes regarding him with sympathy. More than sympathy, empathy even, for Prince Legolas of the Greenwood was, despite being nearly 800 years old, counted amongst his people as being even younger than Faramir’s eighteen years. Faramir had been surprised to learn that at first. But it was nice, in some ways, not to be the only one at the table who hadn’t yet reached his majority! 

Faramir had learned that truth about Legolas just after the Battle of the Pelennor. Faramir had caught a southron arrow to the shoulder defending the valiant Princess Eowyn after she slayed the Witch King. But that injury hadn’t been enough to stop Faramir from attending the meeting on the Pelennor the next day. Legolas had spotted Faramir leaving his room at the House of Healing.

“Where are you going, Lord Faramir?” The elven prince had inquired, peeking his head out of the door to the brave halfling Meriadoc’s chamber. 

“I’m on my way to attend the council on the Pelennor, concerning what is to be done next,” Faramir had informed him, before offering, “Would you care to join me, Prince Legolas?” 

“My Lord,” protested Guardsman Beregrond, one of the senior surviving Citadel guards, “I really don’t think that it’s a good idea for you to traipse down six levels of the city to the Pelennor!” 

“I am the Steward now,” Faramir had countered quietly, “It is my duty to at least be present when Gondor’s fate is determined.” 

Before Beregrond could answer, the deep voice of Lord Gimli the dwarven warrior inquired of Legolas, “Where are you going, lad? Didn’t you tell me that you would stay here with Merry while I took the nap you thought I needed?” 

“Yes, Gimli,” Legolas had mildly replied, “but Boromir’s brother is going down to the Pelennor. This time yesterday, Aragorn was pulling an arrow out of Faramir’s shoulder and dosing him with enough black-vine antidote to treat a mumak!” 

Gimli’s disapproving attention moved to Faramir, “Didn’t Aragorn tell you to rest here for at least a ten-day, young man?” 

“I have a hole in my shoulder, not my head,” Faramir had replied lightly, having long ago learned that the best method of getting your way when met with overwhelming force was to act as if you have every right to do what you’re planning to do, and to defuse objections with humor and reason. “It’s going to be much more difficult for Aragorn Isildurchil, our rightful King, to convince the Lords of Gondor to support him without me there,” Faramir had pointed out levelly. 

“He’s not wrong, Gimli,” Legolas had noted with some regret, “Aragorn and Mithrandir were both worried about that.” 

Gimli muttered something under his breath, but had agreed to accompany both of them, and the unhappy Beregrond, all the way down to the Pelennor. Along the way, Prince Legolas thought of one errand or another, all of which Gimli had dismissed as either being too dangerous or not worth Legolas’ time when he should be resting after their forced march and then the battle of the day before. A few hours later, when Faramir was sitting on Aragorn’s cot in the future King’s tent enduring the great pain of getting his shoulder wound cleaned and re-wrapped and the great indignity of being lectured to like a child by his Uncle Imrahil, Legolas held Faramir’s hand, and confessed that he’d been in a similar position no few times himself. 

“That is true enough,” Aragorn had commented, with an affectionate cuff to Legolas’ bright hair, “Our elven Prince is actually a little younger than you are, Faramir. By his people’s standards, in any case.” 

Faramir, who’d always been fascinated by elves and who had grown up with Minas Tirith’s vast archives almost entirely at his disposal, had regarded Legolas with an amazement which had temporarily dimmed even his pain. 

“Why, that must mean you’re less than a thousand years old!” Faramir had exclaimed. 

“Eight hundred, actually,” a blushing Legolas had corrected, with a glare towards Aragorn. One which was matched by Gimli, whom Faramir later learned was Legolas’ guardian, and who would protect Legolas, and Legolas’ dignity, even from Legolas’ old friends such as Aragorn and Mithrandir. At least until Legolas did something that Gimli regarded as dangerous! 

Faramir was actually somewhat jealous of Legolas, in that regard. Faramir had regents but no real guardian. Of course, most of him didn’t want one. It was hard enough having regents! But part of him envied Legolas having someone to defend him against the demands of others, and to insist that he not overdo. Faramir was also envious that that none of the council lords or guild masters at the table knew that Legolas was ‘just’ a teenager! It would have made it much easier to be their Steward. 

Still, it turned out that Aragorn had been right yet again to warn Faramir to keep his peace. For surely enough, cranky old Lord Sendar himself took issue with Enedon’s intransigence! Faramir shouldn’t really be surprised at that. Lord Sendar did not like paying any more than necessary for anything. Faramir had never appreciated that parsimony so much as right now! 

Sendar got the other Lords of Gondor on his side. Well, all except for Lord Calihmetar of the Lefnui, whom Faramir suspected was accepting bribes from the Stone Worker’s Guild. Faramir relaxed as the other lords and guildmasters stated their support for Gimli’s generous offer, albeit in the most long-winded way possible. Another breeze drifted in from the open windows, bringing the scent of cherry blossoms and the happy cries of the young men outside playing net ball. 

Faramir loved net ball. Even though he wasn’t stocky enough to knock other players out of the way in the same manner as his brother had once excelled at doing, Faramir was quick and dexterous enough that he’d never had to worry about being chosen last when the game was played during his early years at the army academy. As he grew and honed his naturally decent aim, Faramir had actually become one of the first students chosen, despite his relative youth and smallish size. 

Another gentle kick to Faramir’s lower leg brought his attention back to the council meeting yet again, just in time for the vote to approve the dwarves’ proposal to repair the main gates. Blushing, Faramir gave the King a grateful look. 

Aragorn’s gray-blue eyes, exactly the same shade as Faramir’s eyes, twinkled at him in fond amusement. In those slate blue eyes, Faramir read the thought that Aragorn was merely returning the favor for the many times that Faramir had subtly passed Aragorn a note that his attention was required when the King’s mind had wandered during one meeting or another! 

Faramir smiled at the King, deeply grateful for how different Aragorn’s tolerant response was compared to Denethor’s fury whenever the old Steward had caught Faramir daydreaming. 

After the vote to accept the dwarves’ proposal passed, Lord Hurin called a ten minute recess for the Lords, Ladies, and gentlemen to refresh themselves. Faramir was heartened to see his own squire, Herion, leading a line of serving men carrying trays laden with coffee, tea, lemonade, fruit, and biscuits. 

“Thank you, Herion,” Faramir said to his nineteen year old squire, “I’m sorry that this is keeping you from your off hours,” Faramir added, with a gesture towards the open windows and the net ball game. 

“When you suffer, I suffer, my Prince,” Herion teased, “Besides, we’re not the only two wishing we were outside. Your elven friend is doing much the same.” 

Faramir looked over to Legolas and then smiled, for Legolas was indeed staring out the window. Gimli beside him regarded Legolas with an affectionate glower. Faramir observed that Gimli was putting a splash of milk and two teaspoons of sugar into the cup of tea he was preparing, which must mean that it was for Legolas. Gimli himself, Faramir knew, preferred his tea strong and black. 

To Faramir’s right, Aragorn and Amrothos were politely disagreeing about whether or not they should move the topic of financing additional fishing expeditions to the following week. Faramir devoutly hoped that Aragorn won that argument, because the fishing question was the second to last item on the agenda. If it was postponed, then they might just finish this interminable meeting in time for Faramir – and Herion and maybe Legolas – to go and play in the final round of the netball game before it got too dark to play safely. 

Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like Aragorn was likely to win the point anytime soon. His cousin Amrothos, Faramir had learned, was a talkative fellow. But with Aragorn distracted, Faramir might just be able to drink a full cup of coffee without having it gently taken from him and diluted to the point where it was just coffee-flavored milk! 

As quietly as he could, Faramir poured himself an almost overflowing cup of coffee. Then he lifted it towards his mouth to blow on the surface of the cup to cool it, inhaling the rich, bitter aroma of the coffee as he did so. 

“Ah, Faramir, thank you,” said the King, reaching over to gently, carefully take the very full cup of coffee from Faramir’s hands. “It is so kind of you to prepare my cup for me. Let me return the favor.” 

Faramir tried not to sulk as Aragorn poured out just a third of a cup of coffee, then filled the rest of the cup with milk, before handing it back to Faramir. 

“How thoughtful of you, your Grace,” said Faramir, purposely using the most formal honorific to indicate his displeasure with the situation. Aragorn preferred that Faramir call him by name, which normally Faramir appreciated. But really! Aragorn’s foolish notion that too much coffee would stunt Faramir’s growth was thoroughly irritating. Especially when Faramir could really use the caffeine to help him pay attention to the next topic on the agenda, which was the Farmer’s Guild’s concerns over drainage on the Pelennor. 

“You’re welcome, my dear Prince,” Aragorn replied, appearing not at all put out by Faramir’s nearly successful mutiny on the coffee issue. In fact, his blue-gray eyes were twinkling with amusement yet again. 

In thanks for that, Faramir asked Herion to take the King’s coffee away and pour Aragorn a cup of strong tea instead. Aragorn didn’t like coffee at all, Faramir knew, and had only acted as if he’d wanted the cup that Faramir had originally poured for himself in order to spare Faramir’s dignity in front of the council. 

The topic of drainage on the Pelennor was improved only slightly by the coffee-flavored milk and hazelnut biscuits. Oh, and the apple that the King had solicitously put on Faramir’s plate even though Faramir didn’t particularly care for winter-dried apples this late in the spring. Faramir ate the apple anyway. It didn’t seem worth arguing about. 

The squires’ team scored a point and erupted into loud cheers, distracting Faramir yet again. This time instead of the King gently kicking his leg, Faramir’s attention was brought back to the council meeting by Lord Gimli loudly clearing his throat. 

“It seems as if you don’t have enough information to reach a decision on this issue yet, Lord Burgold,” the dwarf concluded to the displeasure of the rotund Guildmaster of the farmer’s guild, “So why don’t we table it until next week? That would be a better time to discuss the matter of fishing expeditions, too, I believe,” Gimli added, with a glance towards Aragorn and then back towards Legolas, who was again looking out the window. 

Aragorn’s smile was only polite, but Faramir could tell that he was amused again by the look in his gray-blue eyes. 

“I think that is a fine idea, Lord Gimli,” said Aragorn, “Unless there are any other objections?” From the King’s tone, it was clear that he did not expect any objections. And there were none, so Hurin pronounced the meeting adjourned. At last! 

Normally Faramir would have gone with Aragorn and his Uncle Imrahil to Aragorn’s study in the King’s House in order to discuss the council meeting and make plans for the next week. Sometimes they were joined by other members of the Fellowship of the Ring, or by Arwen, or by whoever else Aragorn or Imrahil or even Faramir thought should be there. But today . . . 

“Your Grace, may I be excused?” Faramir asked Aragorn hopefully. If Aragorn had been Denethor, Faramir wouldn’t have even dared ask. If Aragorn had been Boromir, Faramir wouldn’t have needed to ask, as Boromir would have sent Faramir off to play an hour ago. 

“Yes, Faramir, I think that our normal post-council meeting can be postponed until tomorrow afternoon,” the King allowed, the expression in his gray-blue eyes as he regarded Faramir quite fond. “Please do run off and do whatever it is that teenagers usually do when they’re not prisoners of over-long council sessions.” 

“I will!,” Faramir promised, wasting no time in getting to his feet and weaving around the milling councilors to find Legolas. 

“Do you want to go play net ball?” Faramir asked the elven Prince once he’d found him, gesturing at the squires and young guardsmen playing the game outside the window. 

Legolas regarded them wistfully, “I don’t know how to play.” 

Giml snorted, “You’ve been watching that lot long enough that you’ve probably got most of it figured out. Go on, then.” 

Legolas needed no further encouragement to follow Faramir out of the council chamber. 

“Wait here a second,” said Faramir, pulling Legolas after him into an antechamber. After checking to make sure that no one was watching them, Faramir pulled on a lever hidden in the elaborate wainscoting, which opened a tunnel out into a dark, sheltered corner of the gardens. It would save them only some ten minutes, but every minute counted when it was this close to twilight! 

Faramir and Legolas reached the milling players during a break in the action. 

“Can we switch in?” Faramir asked breathlessly. 

Even though several of the squires who had known Faramir at the academy whooped an enthusiastic welcome, the tall tow-headed squire who was the captain of the squires’ team seemed slightly dubious. He was built like Boromir, broad-shouldered and as muscular as an ox. 

“It’s the young Steward!,” commented one of the young guardsmen. 

“Idiot, he’s a Prince now,” corrected one of the other young guards, whom Faramir recognized as Borlas Beregrondchil, the older son of Captain Beregrond, the leader of Faramir’s newly reorganized citadel guards. 

“Who’s that other?” asked another guardsman. Faramir thought he was called Kalevi, and that he was one of the northerners who had come to join their former Chieftain in his new role as King. 

“He’s the elven Prince of Mirkwood,” said one of the squires. 

Faramir sighed as Legolas winced. 

“This is Prince Legolas of the Greenwood,” Faramir emphasized slightly, “He’s never played before. But if his aim with a net is even a tenth as deadly as his aim with a bow, then he’ll be an asset.” 

Borlas Beregrondchil grinned at Faramir, then slapped the guards’ team captain on the shoulder as he said, “Prince Faramir and Prince Legolas can substitute in for me and Brithadan. We’re due on shift in half an hour anyway.” 

“But the elf doesn’t know how to play!” the guards’ captain protested, with an apologetic glance towards Legolas. 

Faramir, making a mental note to learn that particular guard’s name, said calmly, “Legolas can outshoot me on the archery field. But if you don't want him on the team, I can find something else to do with my evening, as well." 

“You’re both welcome to join us,” the guards’ team captain then agreed, looking almost a bit embarrassed for his earlier rudeness, which was more than could be said for the squires’ team captain! 

Borlas handed his stick-net off to Legolas and Brithadan gave his to Faramir, and then the game was on! 

With a small amount of satisfaction, Faramir snatched the ball in mid-air just before it could land safely in the squire team captain’s net. Since he didn’t have a good angle on the goal himself and Legolas did, Faramir passed the ball to the elven prince, trusting him to be a quick learner. 

Legolas seemed to have more difficulty with net ball than he did with archery, for in one effortless motion he caught the ball and then sent it sailing right into the center of the goal. 

The guards’ team cheered, and the bulky northerner whom Faramir was pretty sure was Kalevi lifted Legolas off of his feet in a one-armed hug. Legolas, startled, looked to Faramir for guidance. 

Faramir shrugged and smiled. Legolas thanked Kalevi and patted him on the shoulder until the large young guard released him. 

Then the game began again, with the squires’ team getting the ball to start off with. Kalevi muscled one of the squires out of the way, and the ball landed on the ground. Legolas scooped it up with his net, and passed it to the guard team captain. He passed it to Faramir, who jumped up into the air and managed a clean shot into the goal, despite the squires trying their best to block it. 

Kalevi picked up Faramir, yelling happily, “Now the score’s tied! Well done, your highness!” 

The squires had the ball again, but this time sent it sailing erratically off in the direction of the Court of the White Fountain, in an attempt to evade the guards (and Faramir and Legolas). 

“Orc spit,” said the guards’ team captain, “If those fool lordlings break another window or dent another tree, we’ll have Castellan Belecthor on our heads again!” 

“I’ll deal with Belecthor if it comes to that,” said Faramir, more than a little bit amused. Belecthor, as well as most of the citadel staff, doted on Faramir. They’d all loved Finduilas, and Boromir, and it was Boromir who’d introduced all of them to his baby brother Faramir, and taught Faramir how to treat everyone with great courtesy. Even though Boromir had sometimes forgotten that lesson in respect of foreigners, Faramir took care not to. 

For that reason in part, Faramir’s eyes closely followed the errant ball, and he too hoped that it wouldn’t cause any damage. Just as the hard rubber ball reached the edge of the Court of the White Fountain, a slender figure in the green robes of an apprentice healer reached out and caught it quite neatly. 

“Who is that?” whispered one squire to another. But Faramir had been able to tell who it was with no difficulty! 

“A beautiful catch, Lady Eowyn!” Faramir called out to the lovely Rohirric shield-maiden as he jogged over to her, “Would you like to play? I will step out for you, if you like.” 

“Did the Steward just invite a GIRL to play?” Kalevi asked Legolas. 

“Yes, and hush,” said Legolas. 

Eowyn blushed prettily as she handed the ball back to Faramir. “No, Lord Faramir. Or rather, I wish that I could, but I promised that I’d meet my brother half an hour ago.” 

“Maybe next time?” Faramir offered, more than willing to beg, borrow, or steal enough players for another game if it would make Eowyn happy, and give him an excuse to spend more time with her. He’d fallen in love with Eowyn the moment he watched her stand tall and defy the Witch-King. While Eowyn had seemed to enjoy spending time with Faramir in the House of Healing and during one engagement or another over the past few months, she did not seem quite as enamored with him as he was with her. Or at least, when Faramir asked Eowyn to marry him, she’d just laughed, and told him to ask again after turned twenty. 

“I’d like that,” said Eowyn, with a beautiful smile, giving Faramir hope that maybe she wanted to spend more time with him as much as he longed for more time in her company. 

“Bring the ball back!” The squires’ team captain bellowed, “So that we can hurry up and beat you lot for good before it gets too dark!” 

Faramir decided that he really didn’t like that fellow, even as he bade Eowyn farewell and threw the ball back towards Kalevi. 

The game had re-started, but Faramir’s attention stayed with Eowyn as she walked towards the guest apartments in the citadel currently occupied by Eomer-King and his retinue. So complete was Faramir’s distraction that the first he knew of Legolas passing him the ball was it hitting him hard in the shoulder. 

“Ow!” Faramir couldn’t help but exclaim, because curse it all, it was his left shoulder! 

“Pay attention, idiot!” snapped Legolas, rolling his eyes. The squires had the ball again, but it wasn’t long before Faramir found another opportunity to snatch it away from them. He tossed the ball towards Legolas, who caught it and passed it up to Kalevi, who managed to toss it the short distance into the goal. 

Faramir, Legolas, and the guardsmen cheered. The score was now 15 to 14 in their favor, and most net-ball games ended when the first team earned 15 points. 

“I’m glad that we took Borlas at his word and let your lordships play,” said the tall, dark-haired team captain. 

“Me, too,” said Faramir, with one arm around a smiling Legolas. 

“My name is Lannor Megorchil,” the guards’ team captain introduced himself. 

“Oh!” said Faramir, who now recognized the name from having seen it on one list or another, “You’re one of the King’s northerners.” 

“Aye,” confirmed Lannor, his gray eyes twinkling, “I’m his Grace’s third cousin, on his mother the Lady Gilraen’s side of the family. And it’s my honor to do my part keeping our Chieftain safe here in the south.” 

Lannor’s introduction was interrupted by a loud protest from the squires’ team captain, “We have to play another round! You unlettered louts have been trailing our score for hours!” 

Faramir winced at that abhorrently rude and incorrect characterization. All of the citadel guards and newly-made King’s guards could read and write very well. It was one of the requirements of their jobs. 

“Excuse me,” interjected a mild but very firm voice, “When I played net-ball as a soldier in the old Steward Ecthelion’s army, it was always played to fifteen points. I doubt that’s changed. And even if it has, given the late hour, I am afraid that I am going to have to ask all of you fine young gentlemen to spare my windows, and leave off your play for the night.” 

The speaker was, of course, Aragorn. Still clad in his council finery, with the winged crown of Gondor and Arnor on his head. 

A series of bows and “of course, your Grace’s” followed this royal pronouncement. 

“Thank you. And to thank you also for a fine afternoon’s entertainment,” the King continued graciously, “I’ve asked the kitchen to serve lemonade and biscuits in the Court of the White Fountain.” 

Another cheer went up, this time from both teams, and Faramir found himself and Legolas carried along with the tide of young men to the refreshments being served in the Court of the White Fountain. 

“You’ll have to play with us again next time,” Guardsman Kalevi invited the two of them, “We’ve been playing the squires every sixth day eve.” 

“Maybe, if we’re free,” Faramir answered. 

“But next time, his highness and Prince Legolas will be on our side!” said Faramir’s own squire Herion, who hadn’t been able to escape the clutches of Faramir’s and Imrahil’s secretaries in time to play. 

“Now, wait a minute,” Guardsman Lannor complained, “Your team captain didn’t want the two princes. They’re on our team now.” 

As nice as it was to be wanted, Faramir didn’t really want to deal with this disagreement. 

“Faramir? Legolas?” the King called, “A moment?” 

“Sorry, gentlemen,” Faramir said, excusing himself, “Duty calls.” And just in time, too! 

Aragorn was standing nearby with Gimli, Mithrandir, and Faramir’s cousin Amrothos. All of them were smiling, and seemed to have enjoyed watching the game. 

“Well-played, Lad!” Gimli complimented Legolas, “Especially for not knowing how to play!”

“Yes, yes, Gimli, you were right.” Legolas said, “It wasn’t that hard, and I had it mostly figured out before Aragorn’s council chickens were finished clucking about the fine new wall you’re going to build for them.” 

 

Faramir sighed and looked about, relieved to see that the general noise of the young men enjoying their repast would have drowned out Legolas’ slightly offensive comment. 

 

“I thought as much!” said Gimli, patting Legolas on the back, “Now go and bathe! Both you and Faramir are sweating like pigs.” 

 

“I’ll follow,” said Aragorn, which meant that Aragorn and two quiet guards would follow, “I want to have a look at Faramir’s shoulder.” 

 

“It’s fine!” Faramir immediately protested. 

 

“I am sorry about that,” Legolas said to Faramir, “I didn’t realize you would be too busy mooning over Eowyn to pay attention to the game.” 

 

“I wasn’t . . . I’m fine!” Faramir protested again, now blushing furiously. 

 

“From how quickly you were moving out there, I’m sure that no serious damage was done,” said Aragorn easily, “But indulge me and let me check to be sure. It will only take a few moments. I’m promised to arrive back at the King’s House with enough time before dinner to try on the new clothes that Arwen has been busily acquiring for me.” 

 

Aragorn’s face was that of a man martyred. 

“You do need more clothes that are appropriate to Gondorian formal occasions,”   
Faramir observed heartlessly. 

 

“Thank you, Faramir,” said the King, his eyes twinkling with fond exasperation, “And thank you for telling my wife that last week, as well.” 

[Legolas POV] 

“Well played Lad,” Gimli said, “especially for not knowing how to play.”

Legolas could not help feeling ridiculously pleased at the dwarf’s praise, even though it was only for learning the rules of what had turned out to be a fairly simple human game. It was nice to be able to count on someone to cheer you on, even for such trivial reasons. Team sports were not something he was accustomed to, for his folk never played them that he was aware of. Whether that was because such a thing was not common among elves or if it was because there were no other elves still young enough to appreciate such occupations, he could not be sure. Whatever the case, he had thoroughly enjoyed spending some energy on such a physical pursuit with the other young males of Minas Tirith. However, he wasn’t quite sure he felt the same about the lemonade he was now drinking, another human novelty he had never tried before. Lemons did not grow far enough north for him to have ever gotten the chance. It was a very odd flavor, for at first it had seemed sweet, but after eating one of the sweet ginger biscuits that had been served as well, the drink tasted sour. 

He was still rolling it around on his tongue, trying to make up his mind about it, when his dwarven guardian suggested he needed to bathe. 

“Both you and Faramir are sweating like pigs!” he declared, which was true enough. Legolas did not object. He had enjoyed the game, including getting sweaty and dirty, but a bath would be welcome indeed. Besides, the once famous bathhouses of Minas Tirith had been repaired and reopened and he was looking forward to testing them out. 

The young elf felt a twinge of guilt when Aragorn suggested he needed to check Faramir’s shoulder, for he was the one who had thrown the ball that had hit the injured area. But how was he to know that Faramir would still be flustered by the mere sight of the Lady Eowyn? The young Rohirrim woman had turned out to be a consummate warrior, he had to admit, but he could not at all understand Faramir’s reaction to her. Oh he was intelligent enough to know about physical attraction and how foolishly it made men act over the opposite sex, but that was as far as his understanding went. Faramir was still quite young, but evidently that hadn’t made a difference. While Legolas was considered to be relatively about the same age as Faramir, or perhaps only slightly younger, he was still not the least bit interested in affairs of the heart, while clearly Faramir was. It was just one more thing to make him feel like a foreigner in this city of men. He had been excited to come to the White City, but there were times he felt strangely alone, or would have if it hadn’t been for Gimli.

Of course, Gimli was a far cry from being an elf, but he was not a human either, so the two of them often bonded over discussing the strange mannish customs, including the foods. He briefly wondered what Gimli thought about the lemonade or if he had even tried it. Gimli tended not to be too fond of any beverage as innocuous as cordials or fruit punches, so perhaps he had passed on the lemonade as well. He would be sure to ask the dwarf about it later this evening when he returned to their shared quarters. He thoroughly enjoyed the evenings he spent with Gimli, for he had missed his dwarven guardian even more than expected over the months they had been apart.

After the ring had been destroyed, Legolas could think of nothing but going home, and he suspected that Gimli had been just as anxious to escort him there and deliver him in person to his grateful parent. In fact it had been difficult to tell who had been more relieved between his adar and his dwarf when the pair had arrived. Of course, Legolas had been thrilled to be home as well, and had reveled in the love and attention of his family once he had braved the storm of his father’s displeasure at his blatant disobedience regarding joining the quest without permission. The displeasure, had not lasted long, but the watchfulness did, and it did not let up. Legolas knew he had no right to complain, for he had broken a trust, but it became very tiresome after a while. He was surprised that he had been finally allowed to make the journey to Minas Tirith to meet Gimli as he had promised when they had parted. It had taken a personal letter of invitation from both Gimli and Estel, and an escort of six guards who were to deliver him directly into the dwarf’s hands, but he had finally made it to the White City and to freedom!

Admittedly, he had been slightly disappointed that he didn’t have quite the freedom he had been hoping for, for the dwarf remained strict and had insisted on his abiding by certain rules. For instance, he was not allowed to explore the city beyond the Citadel unaccompanied and there were certain sections of the City he must never enter for any reason, which of course made him distractedly curious. And Mahal help him if he even considered going beyond the borders of the City to the Anduin, for there was evidence of rogue orc activity, and highwaymen taking advantage of the disruption the war had caused. It had been reported that more than a few travelers had been molested and robbed on the roads, so it went without saying that that was a place strictly off limits, though Gimli said it plainly anyway. 

“If I catch you where you should not be, you’ll find yourself over my knee faster than a cat on a mouse. Is that clear?”

Of course, there could be only one answer to such a loaded question, and the elf had given it correctly, though he managed to look just a little hurt that Gimli would suggest such a thing. After all there was no need to scold when he hadn’t actually even done anything wrong yet! The subtle message seemed to sail right past the dwarf, for he didn’t seem the least bit contrite for having made the threat. He was already quite used to ignoring what he called “the innocent act”. In fact, Legolas was not even certain the dwarf had noticed the attempt at his pretending to be offended. On the other hand, Gimli also hadn’t noticed that there had never actually been any promises made, at least not on the elf’s side. Gimli, of course, had promised dire consequences for going against his orders, but Legolas had only agreed that he knew what to expect if he were caught. Anytime he ever broke rules, he never expected to get caught, though it sometimes happened that way. Not that he had plans for getting into mischief, but it somehow eased his mind to know that he needn’t worry about broken promises, if he somehow managed to fall into it by complete accident. 

Legolas noticed that the Gimli was looking at him with a puzzled expression on his face, and for a moment he feared that the dwarf had somehow read his thoughts. Fortunately it turned out that he only wanted to ask him a question. Legolas already knew what it would be before he asked it by the way Gimli was patting his shirt pockets and checking inside his surcoat.

“Have you seen my pipe lad? I fancy a smoke, but I cannot seem to find it.”

“You left it on the balcony table this morning where you had it while drinking your tea, I believe,” he answered, then asked with a chuckle, “what sort of strange substance are you smoking today?”

Gimli had come to Minas Tirith with a full tobacco pouch, but he had not realized that there was none to be had anywhere in the city. Of course he could not deny Aragorn or the hobbits while he enjoyed his pipe on his own, so his supply was soon spent. Since then he had had to get creative. 

“Dried Rosemary leaves,” Gimli admitted with a rueful grin. “It is not longbottom leaf by a long shot, but it burns, and at least it smells nice. Well I’m off to find it. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon.”

Gimli reached forward as if to embrace his elf in parting, but then he seemed to change his mind and settle for a shoulder squeeze instead. 

“You truly are sweaty, Lamb,” he explained, making a face as if he smelled something foul, “now try to behave until dinner time. I will see you then.”

“But that’s two whole hours, Elvellon,” Legolas sarcastically commented, “however will I manage it?”

Gimli ignored the sarcasm and pretended that it was a serious question. He teased in his own turn, “Well there is a first time for everything. Just do your best, Lad. That is all anyone can do.”

Legolas laughed at that and waved as his guardian turned toward their quarters. He then turned around to look for Faramir, who he noticed was speaking quietly to his squire, a young man named Herion. The two seemed to be friends in spite of the disparity in their ranks, for Legolas could hear that Herion was teasing good-naturedly over Faramir’s having invited a girl to play in his place in the game. Herion had not been tagged in, but he had watched from the sidelines, so he had seen everything and seemed to be enjoying a little ribbing. Still, when Faramir gave a quiet order, the squire nodded and went off on some errand or other. 

Faramir then caught Legolas’ eye and nodded toward the exit.

“Shall we? I can show you the sixth level baths. They are open only to those within the Citadel and the patients in the healing wards, but this time of day there should be very few folks there.”

Legolas followed Faramir to a stone wall that seemed to be built on the edge of the mountain. Great stone columns and an arched doorway lead to an airy dome shaped room beyond and beyond that a wide open doorway that lead outside again A soft breeze drifted through. The floors were made of beautifully polished stone that had been set mosaic style in the shape of a great sunburst and sun filtered through the stained glass ceiling, causing red, blue and green streaks to appear in the pale hair of both friends . Here pure white towels were folded and arranged on shelves, where dirty clothing could also be left in bags that could be collected later. Often they miraculously disappeared and were replaced with clean ones by diligent servants, at least that is what Faramir said would happen, so Legolas inferred that he had already made arrangements with Herion. 

Faramir quickly tossed aside his outer tunic, for he hadn’t bothered fastening it again once the game had ended, then he peeled his damp undershirt over his head revealing a muscular but almost too slender body. His stomach was concave at the hip area and his skin looked baby smooth except for three pale hairs in the middle of his chest and a little line of downy fuzz that began at his navel and disappear inside his soft suede trousers. He was just about to loosen the ties when he stopped to see why Legolas, who was looking around a little nervously, was still fully dressed. 

“Females enter from the other side of the healing halls,” Faramir explained. “There is no chance of accidental crossover.”

Legolas was relieved to hear that, for humans had strange customs and he had noticed how forward some of the females in the city had been. But now he hurried to follow Faramir’s lead and strip off quickly, his shyness gone now that he was certain this was a males only establishment. In fact he never even bothered to tie the towel around his waist as Faramir had done, but simply tossed it over his shoulder, leaving gracefully long legs, prominent hip bones and all the rest in full view. He felt no shame at all for he was not body shy. He had often gone swimming and diving with his male elven kin. Had Gimli known, he would have encouraged a bit more modesty, for he understood that his charge’s fair face and young muscular body could easily attract unwanted attention from either sex. 

But Gimli was not there, so the uninhibited elf merely followed his friend outside to the natural pools that were set on the side of the mountain. Steam rose up from the hot waters, but it did not entirely block the spectacular view of the city and beyond. The two friends stood together in knee deep water admiring the view, before finally taking the few stone steps down into the deep pool and sinking into the built in stone benches until the water came almost to their chins. 

The hot water was pure bliss after the long day the two had experienced. Both were feeling a little tense, not from the game of netball for they were both full of youthful energy so that an hour of physical exertion was hardly noticeable. No the tight neck muscles were caused primarily by the six grueling hours of sitting around having to listen to long winded men whine and complain about the unfairness for their lot in life, or who should have the King’s attention first, or whatever it is that they had been griping about. 

Legolas admitted, if only to himself, that he hadn’t been paying that much attention, especially toward the end. It was an honor to be invited, but the topic of designing the gardens had come first and had been settled in half an hour and after that he had swiftly lost interest. Of course his guardian had noticed it too and had given him a sharp elbow in the ribs a couple of times to garner his attention, but it hadn’t really helped much. The day was too fine and the window had been open. Concentrating was beyond his capability when he could smell the heady scent of lilacs on the breeze and the sound of laughter of the men and boys playing their game. He had half expected to be in some hot water with his guardian-he would have been in similar circumstances at home-but Gimli didn’t care for long drawn out discussions either and felt strongly that humans spent far too much time talking and planning and not enough time actually doing. 

“The reason dwarves are so accomplished at great feats of engineering is because we believed that projects consists of ten percent inspiration and ninety percent perspiration,” the dwarf had told Gondor’s king. “Make a plan, then do the job, lad. There is no need to stand around yammering.” 

In fact it had been Gimli who had finally insisted that the torturous meeting should come to an end, and then hinted that the youngsters in the group should be allowed to join the fun that was taking place outside. Legolas had felt like shouting for joy and then kissing the dwarf in his relief, but he had restrained himself and settled for a grateful look. Gimli had simply winked back, showing once again that he really did understand what his young charge needed. Legolas knew he was very fortunate, and wished he could find a way to show his appreciation. It was something to think on, but for now he simply enjoyed the view and the hot water in companionable silence beside his friend. It was Faramir who broke the silence.

“That meeting was brutal!” he exclaimed. “I could feel rigor mortis setting in. Thank goodness these bath houses have finally been repaired! I finally feel my back loosening up.”

“Agreed,” Legolas said, “and thank goodness that Gimli took the initiative to end it. If it were up to Lord…Lord Cow Meat Ear, or whatever his name was, we’d still be listening to him name every human metal worker’s third cousin once removed who would be humiliated if the dwarves were commissioned to repair the main gate.” 

“His name was Lord Calihmetar,” Faramir laughed. “Though he did have rather large pink beefy ears now that I think of it. Anyway you are right. I would have thrown my arms around Gimli in thankfulness if I hadn’t thought it might alarm him too much. I can’t remember ever being quite so happy to end a meeting! We should get him a thank you gift.”

Faramir was only joking, but his jest made Legolas remember something. He had teased Gimli about smoking strange substances, but at the same time he had wished he had some pipe weed to give him. He knew how much his guardian missed real tobacco and it would have been a fitting symbol for his gratefulness, not just for ending the dreadfully dull meeting, but just for his kindness in general. If it weren’t for Gimli he would have never been permitted to come to the White City. For that matter, if it weren’t for Gimli he might not have been permitted to continue the quest at all. Likely he would have been replaced by a volunteer in Lothlorien and then escorted home in disgrace. 

Of course he knew that there was no pipe weed to be had for love or money in Minas Tirith, for even Estel had been unable to score any. Unless, perhaps Faramir knew something that the King did not. It was worth asking about.

“Is there really no pipe weed anywhere in the city?”

“Not a drop,” Faramir told him. “Aragorn had his secretary search the city and none was found.”

“I see. I hoped you knew of some since I happen to know you have your secrets.”

Faramir stared at him, looking genuinely startled for some reason that Legolas could not explain. He did suddenly notice that with his hair darkened from being wet, Faramir looked strikingly like Estel had looked at a similar age. It was something about the eyes and the angular line of his jaw. Anyone might think they were related! But then it could just be the fact that they had common ancestors, so the elf just brushed the strange feeling off. Faramir had also evidently forgotten why he had been so startled for he merely chuckled.

“I am afraid not, my friend,” he said. I may have secrets, but hidden pipeweed is not one of them. I am sorry. It would have made a fine gift for your guardian, and the King as well for that matter.”

“And the hobbits,” Legolas pointed out. The four of them had been living in special quarters outside the Citadel since the war. Aragorn had insisted they wait to travel until Frodo was stronger, but he could not convince them to live within the Citadel itself. Sam had been sure his master would only recover if he personally cooked and cared for him. Poor Frodo had never been the same since the war, and some thought he never would be, but some nice pipe weed would surely cheer him as much as it would Gimli. It was a shame that such a prize could not be gotten. 

Legolas sighed and glanced over at Faramir, who now had his eyes closed and his head rested back against a flat stone placed there for that purpose. He let himself relax back into the hot water as well and looked out at the magnificent view. From here he could see the Anduin, and when he looked closer white sails of three or four largish ships. He idly wondered what they were doing and where the crew aboard them were going and where they had been. He again felt a little twinge of frustration at being trapped by his circumstances. During the quest he had seen much that he never wanted to see again, but he had also seen sights he had never experienced before and that made him long to see more of the world. For a moment he envied the men on those boats and the freedom he imagined they had while he was trapped here, forbidden from even leaving the Citadel on his own. Eventually he broke the silence again.

“Where are the ships from, Faramir?”

Faramir sat up and, shading his eyes, looked toward the river was well.

“Eriador maybe? At least that is what I would guess by the shape of the sails, but it’s hard to tell.”

“They look like they are about to dock, which means they are likely to unload tomorrow. What sort of goods do you suppose they are carrying?”

Faramir turned to look at him curiously.

“It could be anything. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Legolas smirked and raised an eyebrow at his friend. “I was only curious.”

“Well if I were to guess,” Faramir began, his eyes twinkling, “ I would think it might be silk or cotton, or even luxury items like spices or liquor or….I don’t know…. perhaps pipe weed.”

“That is an excellent suggestion, Faramir. I am glad you thought of it! We should retrieve some. I think we could be there and back inside half a day if we use some of your secret passages to exit the Citadel.”

“Actually you thought of it, not me! But we could try,” Faramir agreed, “only you aren’t allowed to leave the city.”

“And you are?” Legolas scoffed, fairly annoyed. There was no need for Faramir to pretend he was a free agent able to do as he pleased.

“No, I am not allowed either, but you are the one risking your rear end. Gimli made that clear when you just wanted to see the shadier parts of town.”

 

Legolas flushed, for he had convinced himself that Faramir might not have heard that particular conversation between him and his dwarf, but he was still determined to convince his friend.

 

“If you had bothered to eavesdrop better, you would have heard that Gimli only mentioned what I could expect if he caught me where he did not wish me to be. I have no intention of getting caught, so that means I am doing nothing wrong.”

 

Faramir laughed loudly at that and looked a little excited as well.

 

“I am not sure your guardian would agree with that logic, but it makes perfect sense to me.”

 

Wanting to take advantage of the momentum he had created, Legolas stepped around so that he was facing his friend.

 

“Let’s do it, Fara! Think how pleased Gimli and Aragorn would be, not to mention the hobbits.”

 

“We would have to come up with a plausible cover story about where it came from,” Faramir said, warming to the idea. “But they would be pleased.”

 

“And it would be an adventure!” Legolas pointed out. “I for one am tired of being watched and protected like an infant when I can take care of myself! As can you, Faramir. Together we could manage any possible obstacle and no one will ever know we were gone.”

 

“Of course we can! But we need a plan.”

 

Legolas was pleased that Faramir had been convinced so easily, and he was suddenly so lighthearted with excitement that he couldn’t stop himself grasping Faramir by the shoulders and giving him a yank forward, so that he lost his footing and fell face forward into the steaming water. 

 

Faramir came up sputtering, his fair hair plastered to his head. Taking a deep breath, he leapt forward and landed his full weight onto the lithe elf, causing them both to go under this time. The splashing and shouting that ensued, caused a guard to pass by and clear his throat and then offer them both a censorious look. He said nothing, likely because he knew to whom he was speaking and he did not feel he could threaten to remove the steward and an elven hero of the ring war, from the Citadel bathhouses. Still the two friends recognized that the guard just might tell the wrong person so that the the tale ended up in the ears of someone they would prefer not to hear of their foolishness, so they settled down and made their plans in whispers.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: We are using the book version with respect to Aragorn's height (6'6) and the general height of men of Gondor (very tall), and the book description of their bows (nearly as tall as they are).

[Legolas POV]

The next morning as Legolas heated water for the black tea that his dwarven guardian always liked to drink in the morning, he had to force himself not to hurry through the process. Gimli was sure to ask about his plans for the day and if he seemed the least bit out of sorts the dwarf would want to know the reason why. If his hand shook or his voice cracked, or even if he laughed nervously, Gimli would want to know what the matter was, and once the dwarf was on his trail, he would not rest until he squeezed the truth out of him. He had to play his hand just right if he intended to get beyond Gimli’s sight, let alone out of the city. That was the most difficult part of the plan.

When the kettle squealed he forced himself to walk nonchalantly to the fire and then carefully pour the water over the waiting leaves, and then made himself count out a nearly unbearable three minutes before pouring the drink and offering it to the dwarf, who glanced up at him only long enough to mutter a thank you. 

It was in his favor that Gimli was preoccupied this morning with some parchment he was scribbling on with a lead pencil. Well perhaps scribbling wasn’t the right word. Gimli was measuring diligently and then using drafting tools of some sort to draw precise plans for something, that Legolas could only assumed had to do with gates or walls or something similar. Legolas was aching to take his leave to go and join Faramir. They needed to be off before first light if they were going to make it back before dinner time when they were most likely to be missed, but it would not do to raise suspicion and ruin the plan before it began. So the elf just sat back down and pretended to lazily stretch and yawn as if he were still in the process of waking up. He even made himself speak lightly to his dwarf.

“You are starting early this morning, Elvellon,” he observed, “will you begin work on the gates today?”

“Not today, but I will be hiring workers and organizing crews all morning, and then supervising the placing of materials all afternoon,” he explained. He put his pencil down and really looked at his elfling, who forced himself not flinch or blink. “I will be gone most of the day, Lamb, so you will have to entertain yourself. I am sorry I haven’t been able to spend more time with you since you’ve been here. I hope you understand.”

Legolas prevented himself from sighing in relief and again answered as lightly as he could manage.

“Of course I understand, and I will be busy enough myself soon. Anyway I was planning to spend the day with Faramir, so I’ll be entertained.”

“I am glad of that then,” Gimli smiled, “though mind the two of you aren’t too entertained! What do have planned?”

This was the hardest test, for Legolas was terrible at lying, especially to his dwarven guardian, so he took a deep breath and told a very bare-bones version of the truth.

“I am not sure of every detail, but I am meant to meet Faramir in his rooms this morning. The view was beautiful from the hot springs yesterday, so maybe we’ll go admire the Anduin again.”

He didn’t bother to say that he intended to make use of a secret passage that began in Faramir’s room or that their later view of the Anduin might be much closer up than yesterday’s. He hoped the dwarf wouldn’t think to ask. 

He held his breath and watched as his dwarf stood and walked over toward him. He half expected to be grasped by the chin and forced to look Gimli in the eye before he demanded the elf tell him the truth, but instead he only had to sit still and accept the kiss that Gimli placed on top of his head before he made for the door.

“In that case, enjoy your day laddie, and try to stay out of mischief,” Gimli said, “I will see you this evening.”

It wasn’t until the door had closed and he had heard dwarven footsteps all the way down the corridor that Legolas let out the breath he had been holding. Even then he waited a full ten minutes before he grabbed his white handled knives and hurried off to meet up with his friend. He would have taken his bow, but he felt it might draw too much attention.

When he did finally slip into Faramir’s private rooms, it was to find the young man waiting impatiently to leave.

“What took you so long?” he demanded. “We need to be out of the city before too many folks are about.”

“You try getting past an over protective dwarf with an over developed sense of duty before you make any complaints,” Legolas retorted, “It would not have helped our mission had Gimli tethered me to his wrist for the day, would it?”

“I suppose not,” Faramir had to agree. “Come the exit is inside the dressing room.”

Legolas followed Faramir into a smallish room where he moved aside some cloaks that were hiding what anyone would have thought was an ordinary stone wall, but what turned out to be, when Faramir pushed just right, a secret opening to a secret tunnel. 

“How are you explaining your absence,” Legolas asked, as he followed Faramir through the opening. 

Faramir carefully slid the slid the cloaks back in place and closed the door behind them.

“I just asked Aragorn for the day off and told Herion I could take care of myself for the day. They were both thrilled,” Faramir explained, as he hurried down the dark hidden corridor. 

Several twists and turns later they came to a small chamber that appeared to have no windows or doors, which Legolas highly suspected was not the case. Against one wall leaned several tall, stout black bows, a couple of spears and a sword. 

“You never know what you might need when sneaking out of the Citadel,” Legolas observed. “Do you always keep spare weapons here?”

Faramir shrugged, strapping the hefty sword at his side, “It is good to be prepared. Are you armed?”

Legolas showed him his knives.

“Good!” Faramir said, “but we should take a bow as well. We could encounter anything once we leave the city. Here, help yourself.”

He gestured toward the enormous bows that had been designed for the tall men of Minas Tirith. The bows were nearly as tall as Faramir, and Faramir was nearly as tall as Aragorn, and Aragorn was the tallest man that Legolas had ever seen. Aragorn stood nearly seven inches taller than the elf, meaning Faramir was a solid four inches taller at least. Legolas was used to using a long bow, and was considered one of the best archers in Eryn Lasgalen. Some even went so far as to say he was unmatched in all of Middle Earth, but he was not certain he could use the Gondorian bows. His Lothlorien bow was sixty-three inches long, but it was made of the wood of the great mallorn trees, so it was almost as light as his silver and ivory handled knives. These black beasts were possibly seventy inches tall, and looked heavy and unwieldy. How could he possibly shoot a bow that was as tall as he was? He wasn't even sure his arms were long enough to pull it!

Faramir must have noticed as well.

“Can you even wield it?” he asked doubtfully. “It is as tall as you are.”

The question got Legolas’ back up. He was not used to having his archery skills questioned. 

“Of course I can wield it!” he haughtily exclaimed, though truthfully he had his doubts. “Just help me with the quiver. I don’t understand your human designs.”

He looked over the enormous quiver filled with great green-feathered arrows and then allowed Faramir to help him strap it on his back. And so heavily encumbered, he followed Faramir through a second secret door that lead to a dead-end path hidden behind an ivy covered wall. Legolas admired the camouflage. No one would have ever known it was there. Once outside again, Legolas looked up and noticed that he could see all the levels of the City, which meant they were actually already on the lowest level.

It was still dark, but the moon was full, so there was no need to light a lantern as they walked through a rather deserted part of the town. In fact they passed no one for several minutes, though soon enough the elf’s keen ears picked up the sound of loud raucous laughter and unmelodious music. Clearly there was activity at least in certain parts of the City. Soon he could see lights pouring out of buildings on either side of the streets and he wondered what people were doing at such a strange hour. Evidently he was about to find out, for that seemed to be the path Faramir was intent on taking.

But before they could do so, Faramir called a halt.

“Wait a minute,” he said, turning to face his friend. “We have to do something about your ears.”

“Do we?” Legolas asked, reaching up to cover them with his hands. “Why?”

“We are going to have to go through the Shades,” Faramir explained.

“Shades?” Legolas couldn’t remember why that name sounded familiar. 

“Yes it is the part of town that is nearest the mountain, so that the sun never hits it,” Faramir told him. “It also has an unsavory reputation for its brothels and taverns and other questionable goings on.”

“Oh!” Was all the elf said, but he felt an anxious twinge in the pit of his stomach. This was the place that Gimli had warned him never to enter under the threat of dire consequences. He had no idea why his conscience had decided to rear its fickle head now. He had already made up his mind to break quite a number of the dwarf’s edicts, after all, and he had long wanted to see the forbidden area. Besides what difference did it make anyway? He didn’t intend to get found out, but if he did, he might as well be hung for a sheep, as it were. 

“What does that have to do with my ears?” Legolas asked, shaking off the uneasy feeling.

“Well, there is one person, other than the hobbits, in Minas Tirith with pointed ears, which is something that is bound to cause a stir. Unusual happenings tend to end up somehow reaching the King’s ears. I think Aragorn just might figure it out and if that happens, the news very well could reach Gimli’s ears and…well I just thought you were fond of sitting.”

Legolas flushed at Faramir’s teasing and once again pushed down the nervous flutter in his gut, but Faramir was right.

“Just shut up and help me,” Legolas ordered, as he loosened his braids. Faramir helped him pull his hair back into a long tail and tied it at the base of his neck, so that his ear tips were totally covered. 

“There!” Faramir exclaimed. “Now you can pass as one of the Rohirric boys at least. You may look too young to be in such a place, but at least you don’t look like an elf.”

“And you don’t look too young, oh aged one?” Legolas teased.

“Well I have a beard at least!” Faramir pointed out, rubbing the soft fuzz that he hadn’t shaved off that morning.

Legolas squinted and pretended to examine the young man’s face. Finally he reached up to feel the fuzz for himself.

“So you do!” Legolas agreed. “But I am not sure we can convince everyone we encounter to rub your chin to find out.”

Faramir rolled his eyes.

“Hilarious,” he said, “Now come on. Just walk quickly and avoid talking to anyone if you can, and try to look like you have the right to be there! Confidence is the key.”

Legolas straightened his back and tried his best to imitate his intimidating sire by lifting his chin and composing his face into a disdainful expression. Unfortunately it was difficult to maintain, when they actually approached the populated part of the street, for the reasons Gimli had forbidden him to enter the area became quickly apparent. 

Drunken men and women stumbled about the streets laughing or singing tunelessly, their arms casually thrown about each other. One woman screamed vulgar abuse at her male companion, while another pair actually seemed to have their faces stuck together as they leaned against a brick wall openly fondling one another. Legolas turned his face away in distaste just in time to see a red faced man with greasy hair vomit into an unused flower pot as his friends stood back and mocked him. Most shocking of all were the middle aged painted ladies who stood on the street corners and called to the men who passed by. Their brightly colored skin-tight dresses were so low cut that Legolas cringed every time one of them lifted an arm to wave to an acquaintance for fear of seeing more female anatomy than he was prepared for. Did humans find such things attractive?

He turned to look at Faramir to gauge his reaction and found that his friend wasn’t faring much better. Far from seeming awed or excited, he appeared to be at the least very concerned, at the most disgusted. Evidently the attraction the young man felt toward the modestly dressed and wholesome faced Lady Eowyn, did not indicate an interest in all females, even ones offering themselves so willingly. 

Just as he was thinking this, he felt a long pointed fingernail stroke under his chin, guiding his face around to a pair of thick lashed fluttering eyes; eyes that looked both haunted and amused at the same time. The red mouth smirked at him and he noticed that a similar looking female with lips painted pink, stood next to Faramir stroking his arm.

“You lads look like you would enjoy a little adventure,” The red mouthed one said, leaning forward to showcase her bosoms to best advantage. “The price goes down as the sun comes up, Love, and if it is your first time, I’ll let you kiss me after.”

Bile rose in the elf’s throat at the thought of the woman’s mouth anywhere near his, especially since she smelled like a mixture of jasmine, whiskey and anchovies. It would likely be more hygienic to lick Gimli’s ash tray. It was all he could do not to gag as he backed away and walked around the pathetic woman. He could not fathom why anyone would take money to kiss her, let alone pay to do so! Humans had very strange customs!

It wasn’t until he saw a blushing Faramir hand the women each some gold coins and tell them there were better work opportunities in the city these days, that he realized what the women were actually selling. He felt his face flame at the thought, and at the women’s teasing words.

“Come see us after your mama gives you some more candy money, sweet pea,” red mouth called. “What we’re selling is sweeter than candy anyway.” 

Both women cackled and then turned their attention to more willing companions, thank the Valar. 

[Faramir POV] 

Faramir's face was burning. Mostly with horror and frustration at these poor women's situation, but also with embarrassment. On the one hand, Faramir was deeply appalled on the part of his society. But he also didn't care for being referred to as "sweet pea!" 

"Legolas, I assure you, most of Minas Tirith is NOT like this," Faramir said quietly, but intently to his shaken friend.

"How many of those women are there?" Legolas asked. 

Faramir shrugged, and promised himself that he'd find out, and see what could be done for them. They should at least have a choice! And Boromir . . . Boromir and his friends had come here, and patronized some of these establishments! And not just the taverns, either! Faramir devoutly hoped that his brother, whom he knew had bedded a number of women, had never accepted an offer such as the ones Faramir and Legolas had just refused! Surely Boromir wouldn't have! The only paramours of his whom Faramir had met had been noblewomen or the daughters of merchants or captains. And they had all been looking for no-strings-attached fun, just like Boromir.

Boromir, who would have, come to think of it, been horrified himself that his baby brother was wandering around the Shades with only a fellow teenager for company. Boromir had promised to take Faramir drinking here when Faramir came of age, but in a proper drinking establishment, and with a bevy of friends. Boromir had never traveled alone. 

Preoccupied with such thoughts, Faramir didn't even notice the four huge men staring hungrily at him and Legolas until one of them grabbed Legolas' arm. 

"Hey there, pretty boy," a hulking brute with the callouses of a blacksmith cooed at Legolas, "Why don't you and I find a room?" 

"He's not interested," Faramir said flatly, placing his hand on top of his sword pommel. "I'll thank you to unhand him and move along your way. We don't want any trouble."

And Faramir really didn't. They'd never make it to the Anduin and back by dinner at this rate! And besides, it had just occurred to Faramir that he'd never been out drinking, even illicitly, without at least a half dozen of his fellow rangers or academy cadets. The leering blacksmith's three companions looked like off-duty soldiers, and they outnumbered Faramir and Legolas twofold. By weight, it was more like three or four fold! 

The lecherous blacksmith did not let go of the shocked Legolas. Worse, one of his companions, the oldest of them, Faramir thought, due to his white hair, began circling around behind Faramir.

Another taunted, "Ooh, listen to the little lordling, Narthon! He's giving you orders!" 

"And you should obey them!" snapped Legolas, yanking his own arm away from the blacksmith in such a way that Faramir knew it must have smarted. The blacksmith's hand, not Legolas. Legolas knew how to break a hold.

"After all," Legolas continued, as the surprised blacksmith shook his stinging hand and cursed, "He's your . . ." 

Fortunately, Legolas stopped talking at that point. Faramir, who had been trying to keep one eye on the man moving behind them, barely noticed. He and Legolas were well on their way to being surrounded, and that wasn't good news. Faramir wasn't much of a wrestler, and there was barely enough space to draw his sword in this crowded street, let alone his bow. What’s more, Faramir found himself hesitating to kill these men, or even seriously injure them, the way he would have done with an orc, or an enemy combatant. Legolas seemed to be suffering from the same hesitation. 

The blacksmith was shaking his stinging hand and rubbing his arm while he stared at Legolas in drunken surprise. Legolas took as step closer to Faramir, simultaneously angling himself so that he was facing the men Faramir couldn’t see. Legolas knew what he was doing as a warrior, but he, too, was used to fighting orcs. Faramir really didn't like this situation. 

He liked it even less as the blacksmith's friends erupted into raucous laughter. 

"He's who?" the soldier with a gold earring asked, dropping a skin of wine as he leaned towards Faramir in interest. 

His fellows, meanwhile, mocked the blacksmith, jeering at him for being unable to win Legolas’ affections.

The soldier with the gold earring continued, “Who are you, sweetling? A pampered lord's precious heir, out slumming it for the night? I bet that you didn't even fight in the war, darling, you just quivered in Ada's townhouse on the fifth level while real men like us bled and died!" 

"We both fought and bled on the Pelennor, corporal," Faramir reproved, taking a guess at the man's rank based on the quality of his clothing and his bearing, "And now we're on our way to meet a friend at the docks. Why don't you lot go on your way, and we'll go on ours. That will be easier on all of us." 

"I don't think he's a lordling proper, Corporal Ravomen, or even a soldier," theorized the white-haired man who was now behind Faramir, "Maybe a very high-priced prostitute? Come on, lad, I'll show you a good time. Narthon has a liking for blonds, but me, I prefer red heads." As the white-haired soldier said that, he reached out to grab Faramir's sword arm. 

"Fornicating orcs," Faramir swore, using one of Boromir's favorite imprecations, as he decided that there was no hope of getting out of this without some type of violence. Hoping that these louts were even drunker than they looked, and silently promising himself that he'd stop getting too busy to take those extra wrestling lessons that the King had suggested, Faramir moved his arm away from the white-haired soldier at the same time that he stepped backward into the man, stomping his foot down hard on the soldier's instep and elbowing him viciously in the stomach. 

The white-haired man made a very satisfying "oof" noise and stepped back, giving Faramir enough space to draw his sword and whirl around so that his back was against Legolas' back. As he did so, the man with the gold earring called out to Faramir's assailant, "Groben, the little lordling bested you right neatly!" 

"A little warning next time!" Legolas complained to Faramir, as he used the blunt end of one of his knives to hit Corporal Ravomen on the temple. That got the fellow to move back dazedly, at least. But it left the blacksmith and the soldier with the gold earring still standing. Even worse, the soldier with the gold earring called over two more friends, neither of whom looked particularly reputable, and both of whom were built like mountains. 

"Sorry," Faramir apologized to Legolas absently, "But mind the new soldiers to your left!" 

"I see them, Faramir, but I'm a little preoccupied just now!" 

The blacksmith's sweat-streaked face was red with embarrassment at being rejected by Legolas and then taunted by his peers. He made another reach for Legolas, yelling as he did so, "No beardless youth rejects Narthon, the best blacksmith in the Shades! You'll drop those knives and give me a nice kiss to show me that you're sorry youngling, if you know what's good for you!" 

"Are you stupid as well as ugly?" Legolas asked the blacksmith, his back tense against Faramir's, "Clearly, I find you about as attractive as an orc. And I'll treat you like one, if you don't leave now!"

Groben, the white-haired soldier whom Faramir had knocked over, had gotten back to his feet, and his face looked like a storm cloud. "Come on, friends. I think that we have to teach these two little lordlings a lesson." 

Faramir lost track of exactly what happened next. It had been a mistake to draw his sword; he didn't have enough space to use it properly without endangering himself and Legolas. So he used his hilt to knock Groben unconscious and then threw his sword at one of the taller of the two newcomers. 

Legolas had gotten some space at first by brandishing his knives, and then slicing the first arm that came after him, but he was outnumbered and outweighed. The soldier with the gold earring managed to get a good hold on Legolas' left arm while Legolas was using his rightarm to menace the shorter newcomer. The soldier with the gold earring twisted Legolas' arm behind his back so cruelly that Legolas was forced to drop one of his knives. 

Faramir, seeing that, turned his attention away from the taller newcomer to try and help Legolas. Which turned out to be a mistake, since the taller newcomer had had time to recover from having a sword thrown at his face, and used his impressive bulk to slam Faramir up against the wall of the nearby tavern face-first. 

"Hey!" bellowed a new and vaguely familiar voice, "You louts back off! Drop your weapons and sit down on the ground, in the name of the King!" 

Faramir was seeing stars, but he was still able to take advantage of the pressure behind him lessening to slam his head up into the chin of the man holding him against the wall. Next to Faramir, the blacksmith Narthon cried out in pain as Legolas similarly took the opportunity to knee him in the groin. 

"Come on!" Faramir yelled to Legolas, grabbing his arm and pulling him away from the fray as their assailants cried out that they knew no King, and that the Steward should rule in Gondor. 

"Faramir, your sword!" Legolas reminded him, picking it up and handing it to Faramir as they passed it in the gutter. 

Faramir accepted it with a murmur of thanks, then pulled them both to a halt just before they turned the corner into the next street such that the fracas would be out of their view. 

"What are you doing?!" Legolas asked incredulously 

"Making sure that Lannor and Kalevi have enough back up to handle our new friends," Faramir answered, pointing towards two of their rescuers, who happened to be the young guards they'd played netball beside yestereve. He and Legolas watched anxiously until another six off-duty King's Guards and northern rangers surrounded the knot of would-be rapists. Faramir recognized one of the older King's Guards, Magordan, as well as Borlas, Beregrond, and Halvon, one of Beregrond's contemporaries amongst the citadel guard. All in all, they seemed a very capable group. 

"Should we go and help?" Legolas wondered aloud. 

"I think they've got this well in hand," Faramir answered, "And I'd rather not answer any questions about what we were doing here. You?" 

"Same," Legolas agreed, "And I'd like to get away from this "Shades," as quickly as possible!" 

"It's not going to make my list of favorite places either," the shaken Faramir confessed, as he happily led the way toward the main thoroughfare of the First Level.


	3. Faramir Sketch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is not a story update, but a sketch I did of our version of teen Faramir. I hope you all enjoy it! -Beth


	4. Chapter 4

Soon they were walking past more respectable taverns and eating houses, ones which were setting out breakfast and catering to the needs of the early-risers rather than those who were late to bed. 

"Only Lannor and maybe Kalevi were close enough to see us, I think," Faramir worried, as they dodged their way through men and women on their way to work, "And they don't know us well. Dressed as plainly as we are today, I don't think that they recognized us. Surely they would have said something, if they had?" 

"Well, it's too late to do anything about it now, even if they did see us," Legolas said philosophically, although it was clear from the frown on his face and his furrowed brow that the idea concerned him as well, "We might as well go on and try to achieve our objective."

"Fair enough," Faramir agreed. He was more worried for Legolas than himself, quite frankly. It's not like Faramir's Uncle Imrahil would be pleased with his nephew for going on a jaunt into the city with a similarly underaged elven friend, but so far Faramir wasn't quite in violation of the promise his uncle had wrung out of him after Aragorn, with Queen Arwen, Gimli, Legolas, and Imrahil in tow, had caught Faramir on his way out of the citadel solo to pay a grief visit on the family of one of the fallen Ithilien rangers. 

"Faramir?!" Imrahil had demanded, "Where are you going?" 

"Hello, Uncle. Your Graces. Gimli. Legolas," Faramir had greeted, giving him time to think on what he would say. 

"Hello, Faramir," Aragorn had replied, his blue-gray eyes concerned but also somewhat amused, in decided contrast to Imrahil's frustration. 

"There's no need for such formality," Aragorn had continued, "We're on our way to have supper with Frodo, Samwise, Merry, and Pippin. Why don't you join us? Pippin and Frodo especially would be glad to see you again. Pippin wants to ask you about the bow you're having made for him, and Frodo has a question about a scroll you brought him on the founding of Annuminas." 

"I would very much like to join you," Faramir replied, grateful in part that Aragorn had given him a graceful way out of a public lecture from his formidable uncle, and more than half truly wishing that he could take Aragorn up on his invitation, "But I am promised to visit the family of Corporal Damrod, one of my fallen rangers, this eve." 

"Not alone, you aren't," Imrahil had told Faramir firmly. 

"My squire Herion usually comes with me," Faramir had explained, trying to defuse the imminent dressing-down he saw brewing in his uncle's expression, "But Herion's father is in Minas Tirith, and I didn't want to interrupt their visit." 

"A laudable sentiment," Aragorn had complimented Faramir quietly, once again preempting Imrahil’s ire, "But your Uncle is quite right that you should not go out into the city alone, let alone on such an unhappy errand. I will accompany you." 

"Oh, but I don't want to take you away from your engagement, Sir!" Faramir had protested. 

"We'll both accompany you, Faramir," Imrahil had added quelling tone of voice. 

And so they had. Aragorn, Imrahil, and Aragorn's guards, who that night had consisted of Magordan, Elrohir and Elladan Elrondion, and Orohael. Not to mention Imrahil's guard, Sir Bellasaer. 

The visit to Damrod's family was one of the sadder ones Faramir had gone on, in some ways, because he had known Damrod quite well. In other ways, it was one of the better visits, as Damrod's family had been honored by their visit, and very kind to the King, Prince Imrahil, and Faramir especially. 

Most of the other ranger's families had also been grateful that Faramir, the rangers' senior surviving officer, had cared enough to come in person to thank them for their loved one's sacrifice. But a few of them had cursed Faramir as a coward for having stayed behind in the city while their kin fought and died on that impossible charge. One grieving father had even offered violence, but his wife had quickly upbraided her husband for attacking 'this poor, brave child.' As little as Faramir had liked being referred to as a child, at least that had defused the situation! 

After the duty visit, Imrahil had tried to take Faramir back to the citadel. Probably to lecture him, although Faramir hadn’t been certain of that. Faramir knew that his powerful, canny uncle from Dol Amroth was a kind man as well as a wise one. But Faramir didn't really know Imrahil that well. Boromir had spent most of every summer growing up with Imrahil and his family, but Faramir had only once been to Dol Amroth, and even then it had been as Lord Denethor's page. Relations between Denethor and Imrahil had soured as they had quarreled over one thing and another in the time between Boromir's graduation from the academy at sixteen and Faramir's birth when Boromir was twenty-three. That, and all of Imrahil's children were, like Boromir, much older than Faramir. 

Fortunately, Aragorn had spoken up again, inviting both Imrahil and Faramir to go with him and join the rest of their party at the house the hobbits were staying at within the grounds of the massive House of Healing on the sixth level. There had been no polite way to say no, and it had been a much more enjoyable way to spend an evening that being lectured at! Although Faramir hadn't been able to entirely escape that, either. 

"Faramir, are you in the habit of going out into the city by yourself?" Imrahil had asked, when he had Faramir mostly to himself. 

"No, not in the habit." Faramir had answered honestly. 

"It's not to happen again, nephew. Am I understood?" 

There was really only one answer to that, and Faramir had given it, "Yes, Sir." 

"Good lad," Imrahil had praised. 

But that had been the extent of Imrahil's instruction - not alone. And Faramir wasn't alone, today. He had Legolas with him. To be fair, Faramir was pretty sure that when Imrahil had said, "not alone,” that Imrahil had meant more than just a single companion of about Faramir’s own age. But Imrahil hadn't specifically said so. 

The issue hadn't come up on any of Faramir's subsequent duty visits to the families of the Ithilien rangers. He hadn't advised the King or anyone else besides Herion of them ahead of time, but someone had always been there, waiting for him, near the main entrance of the Citadel. Usually it was Aragorn, although sometimes it had been Imrahil, Amrothos, or even Lord Tavasond, the highest ranking of Gondor's surviving captains. 

The last time it had happened, Faramir had stopped still in surprise, causing Herion to almost trip over him. 

"How do you always know when I am off on one of these sad errands?" Faramir had demanded of his new King. 

With a gentle, mostly hidden smile, Aragorn had answered, "Please understand that I'm going to decline to answer that question, Faramir. If I told you my trick, it might not work anymore." 

After that, Faramir had been dying with curiosity. It had almost distracted him even from his sorrow on their walk into the city, and yet again after they'd left the mourning family. But Aragorn had still refused to answer, saying only that he would tell Faramir when he was older. 

"But how much older?" Faramir had complained. 

"I'll know when it's time," was all the answer the King would give. Then he'd stopped to buy them both sweets by the fountains on the fifth level, and he and Faramir had watched the sun set together. 

Aragorn was so kind to Faramir, and asked for so little. And all that without even knowing that he was Faramir's father! Faramir very much wanted to do him a favor in return. Even if it meant going out of the city and off to the docks by the Anduin. Nothing had ever been said of Faramir not going outside the city alone. But probably only because the issue had not come up. Given that they'd had to double patrols on the Pelennor due to bandit activity, it had likely gone unsaid that solo jaunts to the river were a bad idea. But Faramir wasn't alone - he was with Legolas. 

Legolas, who would have to answer to his dwarven guardian if their little jaunt were discovered. Faramir would not want to be in Legolas’ place should that come to happen! Lord Gimli had made his expectations and the consequences for Legolas stepping out of line very clear! Faramir actually had a lot of respect for his companion for being willing to risk that painful and humiliating consequence just to do a kind service for his guardian and his friends. Faramir himself hadn’t been spanked since just before Denethor’s death.

The Captain of the Ithilien Rangers had ordered Faramir birched for letting Frodo and Samwise go on their way with as much aid as Faramir and his patrol could give them. It had been Faramir’s fellow lieutenant Anborn who’d administered the birching, and his heart really hadn’t been in it. Faramir had been uncomfortable for that evening and part of the next morning, but it hadn’t been too awful. Lord Denethor’s response had been much worse. He’d ordered Faramir whipped, and had added that if Faramir had been of age, Denethor would have been drawing up execution papers.

Denethor’s chief of staff, Thindir, had been charged with administering that whipping, and he’d discharged that duty with great enthusiasm. It had taken a week for the last of the weals to heal over, and some of them had scarred. Faramir’s Uncle Imrahil and Aragorn the King had both seen those scars. One or both of them had seen Thindir dismissed and sent to prison in the unpleasant marshes near the Bay of Belfalas. Faramir didn’t ask, beyond making sure that Thindir would never bother him, or anyone else, again. 

Since then, no mention had been made of specific consequences should Faramir overstep any bounds. Faramir’s uncle Imrahil wasn’t even in Minas Tirith! Cousin Amrothos was technically supposed to be ‘looking out’ for Faramir, whatever that meant, but cousin Amrothos was very easy-going. Thus far his ‘guidance’ had consisted of inviting Faramir to go out drinking with him. In all honesty, Faramir didn’t know what consequences he’d be facing should their excursion today be discovered. A part of him was a little curious as to what the King would say. Aragorn cared enough to make sure that Faramir didn’t drink too much coffee, surely he’d object to Faramir going to the Anduin with only one companion, albeit a very capable companion?

Which brought Faramir back to the current moment, leading Legolas along with him through the morning crowds on the first level of the city. They were approaching the Old Guesthouse, on Lampwright’s street. Faramir intended for them to rent horses from the proprietor of the Old Guesthouse, but before they reached that destination he smelled the mouth-watering aroma of fresh-baked meat rolls and fruit pastries.

Faramir came to a halt beside the baker’s shop.

Legolas, beside him, paused too, but the expression on his face was one of disbelief.

“After all of that, you’re hungry?” the young elf queried.

“I think that I’m growing again,” Faramir confessed, his stomach rumbling, “I ate breakfast with the night staff in the kitchens. It’s only been a few hours since then, but I’m famished. I’ll be quick,” he promised.

And he was. The matronly woman selling the baked goods was pleased to have a generous first customer, and added two extra berry pastries to the bag she handed Faramir.

“You boys look hungry,” she explained, “My own grandsons ate me out of house and home when they were your age!”

“Thank you, Mistress,” Faramir said, dropping another coin onto her counter, then leaving before she could protest.

Faramir left the pastries in the bag as he led Legolas towards the stable. There would be time enough to eat when they got outside the city.

The hostler at the Old Guesthouse was also pleased to see two early morning customers with ample coin to spend.

“Are you lads looking to buy, or rent?” he asked.

“Rent,” Faramir said firmly, “Just for the day. We’re going down to the docks to meet a friend. We should be back by mid-afternoon.” Or at least so Faramir desperately hoped!

Faramir turned to Legolas, meaning to prompt him to find a horse he thought that he could get along with for the day, but there was no need for the prompting! Legolas was already making friends with a tall bay stallion.

The hostler was staring openly at Legolas and the tall bay. “If you take Fire Demon off my hands for the day, young man, I’ll rent you the other mount for half the price.”

“Fire Demon?” Legolas inquired, “But he’s such a fine fellow!”

“Not to most folks,” the hostler said wryly, “But if you still like him at the end of the day, maybe you’ll take him off my hands for good!”

Faramir found a sweet chestnut mare strong and tall enough to suit him, and then they were off.

They wove their way through the exiting and entering wagons to what remained of the Great Gate. Hastily patched, it was now guarded day and night by the better part of an entire army company. Faramir kept his head down as they rode past the officers of that company, some of whom he knew by name.

“Left, Faramir!” Legolas hissed frantically, “Move left as unobtrusively as you can, and don’t look to the right!”

Faramir obeyed the first instruction, but not the second, and saw Gimli and several stone masons seated at a table someone had set up by the Great Gates.

“I told you not to look!” Legolas scolded.

“Sorry, but he didn’t see us.”

“Thank Bema,” Legolas muttered.

Then they were through the Great Gate, and amongst the wagons, riders, and folk on foot milling on the large paved area just outside the still gaping Gate. From this large cobblestone circle, three great roads led travelers to and from Minas Tirith. The North Way turned into the Great West Road and led on to Rohan. It was via that road that the beautiful and spirited Eowyn would all too soon depart. Another main road led south towards the southern provinces of Gondor, and the last veered off to Osgiliath. Faramir led the way towards a smaller road leading directly to the docks serving the city of Minas Tirith on the Anduin.

“How far is it to the river?” Legolas asked, looking around at the gently rolling hills, newly sown with grass and wheat.

“About an hour’s ride,” Faramir answered, “although we’ll be able to see the river sooner than that.” It was nice to be out and riding in the open air, even on a rented horse, and even with his left cheek, hip, and shoulder aching from having been slammed into a wall less than an hour past. 

“This place has changed so much since the war,” Legolas said softly, “It’s hard to believe that less than a year ago, we fought the might of Mordor on this field. And then afterward, it was covered in corpses and fallen armaments . . .”

“We of Gondor worked very hard to make it green again,” Faramir explained, “Though I did not personally get to help very much.” At first, Faramir had been healing from his shoulder wound and doing his best to keep the city and what was left of the army running. Then, after the King had been crowned and married, and there was a little more time, Faramir had tried to join the work crews on the Pelennor in his free time, only to find himself gently redirected by the King into helping Aragorn on his rounds in the House of Healing.

“Me, either,” said Legolas shyly, “I was on my way to help bury bodies the night before we left for the Black Gate, but Gimli stopped me. It’s as if he doesn’t think I’ve had to carry out such duties ever before!”

“I know,” Faramir sympathized, “I’m an officer, too. I commanded the entire company of Ithilien Rangers when Captain Duilin was injured or away from Ithilien. And I commanded small, far-ranging patrols. It’s not as if I was always accompanied on every step of those duties!”

“And yet,” Legolas picked up the thread, “Since the end of the war, we aren’t even allowed the smallest adventure on our own!” 

“Well,” Faramir said bracingly, “At least we have today.”

“Yes,” Legolas agreed, gently urging Fire Demon to a faster pace. Faramir drew an answering speed from his chestnut mare Daisy, and soon the youths found themselves racing on and off, waving to the few travelers they passed.

The two young men made good time. Soon they came to a small rise, at the crest of which the Anduin was just visible. A single tree had survived the devastation of the War.

“If we stop here and climb to the top of this tree, the view is quite something,” Faramir explained. Legolas was all too willing to agree. When they’d ascended to the highest safe branches – with Legolas one branch higher than Faramir – Faramir handed Legolas his share of the meat and berry pastries, and a canteen of cold mint tea.

“This is beautiful,” said Legolas wistfully, “It is good to actually get to see the healing green fields I’ve been staring at from the Citadel ever since I arrived. But the Shades – Faramir, that was awful.”

“I know,” Faramir consoled, “But most of Minas Tirith – and Gondor – isn’t like that.”

“And those men . . .” Legolas asked, a shadow of fear in his eyes, “they thought that we were . .. like those women? The ones who . . . the ones with the face paint?”

“Those men were pigs, Legolas,” Faramir said with disgust, “Boromir called those kind of men ‘the scum of the army.’ It has nothing to do with them preferring men to women, in terms of romance. There are plenty of men who love men and treat both men and women with respect, including the male objects of their affections. The men who accosted us earlier today were little better than rapists. And since the guards caught them at it, they’ll be spending some time in prison. At the very least.”

“Good,” said Legolas viciously. “We could take care of ourselves, but what if we’d been someone who couldn’t?”

“Mmm,” Faramir equivocated, “Well, I think that I will take the King up on his repeated offers to give me wrestling lessons.”

“That’s a good idea,” Legolas agreed, “And while you’re at it, you should try calling him Aragorn. Or even Estel. He prefers that.”

“I don’t like to presume . . .”

“You’re not. You’re a friend. I know that Aragorn thinks of you that way.”

“Mmm,” said Faramir again, but fortunately he didn’t have to think of another answer, because Legolas took the opportunity to ask, “What kind of berries are these? The meat pies were not bad at all, but the berry pastries are quite good!”

“Spring strawberries, mixed with last summer’s stored blackberries and blueberries.”

“Stored? What do they store them in?”

“I’m not quite sure,” Faramir answered, “I could ask the cooks if you’d like. But we should get on our way.”

“Right you are,” Legolas agreed, and then leapt nimbly all the way down to the ground.

Faramir laughed in delighted appreciation, but climbed down the more normal way himself. When he got to the ground and noticed Legolas rubbing his shoulder with a frown, Faramir asked, “Are you sore from where that orc of a soldier with the gold earring grabbed you?”

“A little,” Legolas admitted, seeming quite reluctant to conceded even that, “But I’ve had worse.”

Of that, Faramir had no doubt. But still . . . “Will it bother you riding?” He asked.

“No, mother,” Legolas replied with a teasing smile, “What about that nice bruise coming out on your cheek bone? Will that bother you riding?”

“Fine, fine,” Faramir conceded with a laugh.

Soon they were back on the road to the Anduin, making good time again. The road dipped and curved up and down little hills and around the course of streams flowing down from Mount Mindolluin to the mighty Anduin. Stone bridges arced over the largest of the streams. As they were approaching one of those, Faramir saw movement underneath it.

“Legolas, did you see . . .?”

“Faramir, I’m an elf. Of course I saw him. But there couldn’t be more than five of them under the bridge. We might as well keep going and wait for them to come to us.”

“Agreed,” said Faramir, loosening his bow and readying himself to shoot quickly when the bandits attacked them from under the bridge.

It didn’t take long. With screams of ‘Your purse and your horse or your life!’ four bearded men mounted on shaggy ponies emerged from underneath the bridge and raced towards Faramir and Legolas. There were another four men on foot running behind them. 

“Do thieves really say that? It seems a little cliched,” Legolas wondered, as he struggled with his heavy Gondorian bow.

“Apparently they do!” Faramir replied, rapidly nocking an arrow and shooting at the shoulder of the first rider. His arrow found its mark. The first bandit howled in pain and fell off of his horse. He conveniently fell right into the path of the second rider, who swerved out of the way and ran straight into the one arrow Legolas managed to loose before swearing and throwing his bow at the third rider.

“I told you that the bow was almost as tall as you are!” Faramir chided mildly. Legolas’ reply was in Sindarin and sounded profane, but Faramir couldn’t pay that much attention to it because his sweet chestnut mare had decided to take that very moment to show that she wasn’t a combat horse, thank you very much!

Faramir got off one more shot before rolling off his saddle. It was that or be thrown!

Legolas was doing better with Fire Demon, who was gleefully stomping on the now-fallen third bandit. The fourth bandit was riding towards Faramir, his eyes wide in fear and his hands determinedly holding on to a long spear.

The fourth bandit had the reach and momentum on his side, but he wasn’t a soldier. Faramir stayed put, trusting Legolas and his knives to handle the first, second, and third bandits if they got up again. At the last moment, just before the fourth bandit’s long spear impaled him, Faramir stepped aside and used his sword to cut through the girth of the horse’s saddle. The saddle fell to the ground, and the fourth bandit fell along with it. He got to his feet cursing, drawing a short sword and wheeling to face Faramir.

The fourth bandit hadn’t accounted for Legolas, who neatly slid a knife under his throat from behind.

“Drop your sword, or die,” the elf stated plainly. The bandit growled, but he dropped his sword.

The four bandits on foot, seeing how their friends were faring, had turned tail and were now running the other way.

“Can we catch them?” Legolas wondered.

“I hate letting them go,” Faramir said, “But we can’t leave this lot, either.”

“We can tie him up,” Legolas pointed out, shoving the fourth bandit to his knees, “The others aren’t going anywhere fast.”

“Do you have rope?” Faramir asked reasonably.

“No. I wasn’t expecting to run into bandits!”

“Me, either. Although I suppose that we should have been.”

The fourth bandit spat on the ground and swore, “Who in the blazes of Mordor are the two of you?”

Faramir and Legolas exchanged helpless glances.

“It’s a long story,” Faramir finally managed, “But we’re with Gondor’s army. You four are under arrest for assault on Gondor’s roadways. Now, do you have any rope?” He asked the bandits hopefully.

The second rider, curled around the knee that Legolas had shot an arrow into, whimpered, “There’s rope in my pack, under the bridge. There’s bandages too. Please, soldiers, show mercy!”

Faramir and Legolas exchanged another long glance.

“There couldn’t possibly be more bandits under the bridge,” Legolas hazarded.

“Hold on a moment,” Faramir asked, turning to the first bandit, who was lying on the ground, clutching the arrow in his shoulder.

“You,” Faramir addressed him, “Look me in the eyes.”

The man did, his dark eyes full of fear and pain. In their depths, Faramir read of how the bandit had once been a farmer, before the hordes of Mordor had come to Gondor and destroyed his farm. When his family began to starve, the man had turned to banditry.

“Are there any more of you under the bridge?” Faramir demanded. He did feel some pity for the man, but he and his family could have come to Minas Tirith and joined the many homeless there, sleeping in shelters on the first three levels of the city instead of robbing other folk on the road.

“No . . . no, my Lord,” the man stuttered, “Please, have mercy!”

“Are there any traps under the bridge?” Faramir asked.

“No, my Lord, please!” the man cried.

“Go ahead and see what you can find,” Faramir directed Legolas, “Rope, bandages, water. We need to tie them up, bandage them one by one, and then tie them to their horses to take them to the docks.”

“But that’s going to take forever!” Legolas objected, “And why should I have to be the one to go rummage through their belongings?”

“I have the bow,” Faramir pointed out, “I have a better chance of defending you from a distance if it turns out he lied to us.”

Legolas sighed, and jogged down to the bridge.

“It reeks under here!” he yelled back to Faramir, “I can’t believe that Gondor’s patrols didn’t find these idiots by smell alone!”

“We were doing just fine,” the fourth bandit growled, “Until you two came along.”

“Just find the rope and the bandages, Legolas!” Faramir called back in exasperation to his friend, purposely declining to get into a debate with the bandit. 

Legolas came back with rope, bandages, and some canteens he’d filled from the stream. Between the two of them, they did their best to treat the bandits’ wounds before tying them up. Then they spent a good fifteen minutes chasing Faramir’s mare Daisy before they could convince her that the fighting was over, and it was safe to come back. The bandits’ horses were fortunately braver, and took rather well to having their former masters tied onto their backs.

By the time that they were finally ready to go again, with one horse tied behind Daisy and three horses tied behind the calmer Fire Demon, the sun was already high in the sky.

“We’re never going to make it back to the Citadel by dinner time if we keep running into distractions like this!” Legolas complained.

“We’ll make it,” said Faramir, “There’s a short cut.”

“There is? Then why didn’t we take that this morning?!”

“I’ll tell you later,” Faramir said, nodding towards the bandits behind them.

“Oh! Them. Right,” Legolas conceded.

“You know,” said Faramir, “I’ve never missed being in a large patrol more than just now. Of course, you and I could handle it, but normally, I’ve got corporals and sergeants to take care of the clean up!”

“Same,” Legolas conceded, “I’ve been commanding patrols for hundreds of years, but I don’t usually have to handle all of the details myself.”

“Who in all the halls of the goblins are you two?” The fourth bandit asked again. As the only uninjured one, he was the most talkative.

Neither Faramir nor Legolas felt inclined to answer.

“Officers, and noble-born ones,” the fourth bandit muttered to himself, “If we’d all been together, we could have taken them and ransomed them and never needed to thieve again!”

“Wonderful,” muttered Legolas, “Why didn’t you think to ask them about where their other friends were, Faramir?”

Faramir was kicking himself for just that. Gently pulling Daisy to a stop and ignoring the groan from the badly injured third bandit tied to the horse behind her, he asked the fourth bandit, “And where are your friends?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, rich boy?” The bandit sneered, but in his eyes, Faramir saw a similar stream, which from the blasted tree by its banks Faramir knew to be well on the other side of the Pelennor, by the great North Road.

“Orc spit,” Faramir muttered, “Well, the good news, is that his friends are probably nowhere near us. The bad news is that they’re in position to trouble northbound travelers. But if we tell the guards at the docks, they can probably do something about that. Or it could be that this fellow is good at lying, and we have no idea where they are.”

“Thank you, Faramir, that was very helpful,” Legolas teased, the expression in his bright blue eyes torn between concern and rueful amusement.

“I do my best,” Faramir said, “But I’m not as good at this as Aragorn is.”

“Of course not,” said Legolas, “You’re not directly of Isildur’s line.” 

“Right,” Faramir agreed, looking away.

“Should we just leave this lot tied up and ride northward?” Legolas asked.

Faramir shook his head, “No. We need to get them to the guards at the docks. Even if we left now, it would take us half a day to ride that far north. The guards can make it in half the time. They have trained war horses and re-mounts to boot.

“Good point,” Legolas conceded, “You know, I’ve never worked with a horse who wasn’t battle trained. I didn’t even think of that when we set out today. Did you?”

“No,” Faramir admitted ruefully, “That’s something else I’m accustomed to being taken care of for me.”

“Blasted nobles,” muttered the fourth bandit, and Faramir couldn’t even bring himself to completely disagree with that criticism! Faramir desperately hoped that the rest of their errand would go more smoothly!


	5. Chapter 5

[Aragorn POV]

The day had begun very promisingly for Gondor’s new King and his lovely bride. They had languorously woken up together in their sun-soaked bedroom. Hand-in-hand, they had stolen through the quiet green pathways of the King’s Garden out to the Citadel wall, where they had watched the sun finish rising over the city which was gradually, day by day, becoming their new home.

Then Aragorn went to morning arms practice, just as he liked to do every morning. And Arwen spent time with her new ladies-in-waiting, getting her own exercise by learning from them more of the dances of modern Gondor, while she in her turn taught Nessanie, Ynithe, Saelrien, Alusina and Eowyn the steps that their ancestresses had once trod under star light when Minas Tirith was still Minas Anor.

On most days, the royal couple would not reunite until luncheon time, for both King and Queen had many new duties to discharge. But this, this was Seventh Day, the day of rest. And it was the first Seventh Day since the ever-efficient taskmaster Prince Im- rahil had departed from Minas Tirith. Even dutiful young Faramir was taking the day off, so of course Aragorn and Arwen were as well. Although Aragorn found, rather to his surprise, that he missed the cheery company, bright enthusiasm, and clever com- mentary of his young Steward.

“If you miss Faramir,” Arwen teased her husband, “Then why don’t you go to the li- brary and find him? I would not mind. We could all have a picnic out on the Court of the White Fountain. I could invite Eowyn and Eomer. We could watch Faramir and Eowyn take turns staring at one another longingly and blushing, while Eomer waivered back and forth between gratitude towards our Faramir for saving his sister’s life, and suspicion towards a male with designs on his sister’s virtue!”  
Aragorn chuckled and pulled his wife into his lap, luxuriating in the relative silence of their bedchamber in the King’s House. Often he felt that their residence was entirely too quiet. But not at this particular moment!

“I do enjoy Faramir’s company very much,” the King whispered huskily, in between pressing hisses to his wife’s slender neck, “But I am not thinking of him now. Or of anyone else but you.”

“Well, then, husband-mine,” Arwen murmured back with a delighted smile, “Why don’t you prove it?”

Aragorn was well on his way to doing so when a loud knock sounded at their bedroom door at a very inopportune moment.  
Aragorn cursed quietly while Arwen groaned in frustrated disappointment.

“I thought that we’d left these type of interruptions behind when we finally got mar- ried and put my dear, obnoxious brothers and my inquisitive father into different apartments on the opposite side of this building!” Arwen exclaimed.

“Perhaps, if we pretend not to hear, whoever it is will go away?” Aragorn said wistfully, not truly having any real hope of that. To be knocking at their bedroom door, who- ever-it-was must have already come through the guards at either door to the King’s House. And none of those gentlemen were idiots.

“No, my love,” Arwen said sadly, pulling their midnight blue silk sheets around her curvy body, “Duty calls. Go and answer.”

“How do we know that it’s for me?” Aragorn complained, mostly for his wife’s laugh- ing smile. It was almost always for him.

And, surely enough, a voice from the door called loudly, “Aragorn? It’s Magordan. I’m afraid that we may have a problem.”

Aragorn groaned and pulled a blanket around his waist. If the Captain of Aragorn’s new personal guards thought that they had a problem, then there probably were more important things afoot than trying to figure out where his clothes had gotten to or where his blasted robe was.

“What is it, old friend?” Aragorn asked tiredly, swinging open the door.

Magordan didn’t blink an eye at Aragorn’s near-naked state. He’d seen his Chieftain in every possible circumstance over the sixty some years they’d worked and fought to- gether.

However, Magordan was not alone. He had Aragorn’s young third cousin Lannor and the Captain of the Citadel Guards, Beregrond, with him. Lannor’s gray eyes were wide at his Chieftain’s state of undress, although Beregrond was too professional to betray any sign of surprise.

“Faramir is missing,” Magordan said without preamble, neglecting to use titles as he almost always did in relative privacy, “I’ve already sent for Herion. And Beregrond’s got his lads looking too, but Lannor is certain that he last saw Faramir two hours ago in the Shades, getting the worst of a dust-up with six army trouble-makers all at least twice his size.”

“Two hours?!” Aragorn demanded, appalled, “And what have you been doing for two hours, that I am just hearing of this now?”

“And what was Faramir doing in the Shades?” Arwen inquired, still clad only in a sheet, ducking under Aragorn’s arm to regard the three guardsmen, her lovely face scrunched up in concern.

“We searched the Shades and the First Level for them first, my lad,” Magordan ex- plained, “and my lady, Eru only knows what he was doing there. But Lannor is also sure that he saw Legolas with Faramir.”

“Sweet Valar and dancing Maiar,” Arwen said faintly, “Gimli is going to have a coro- nary attack.”

“Send for him,” Aragorn ordered, “And get Herion for me as quickly as possible. Di- rect him to my office in the Citadel, it will be easier to coordinate a search from there. I also want to talk to those army trouble-makers. And I want Ethiron, and Der- vorin too, if he’s still in the city. And Prince Amrothos.”

“I’ll make it so,” Magordan promised.

“And send for Nessanie, too,” Arwen added, “And her husband Tavasond. They were Boromir’s friends, they may have some insight. And Eowyn, as well. She usually has a good idea of Faramir’s schedule for any given day.”

“But he didn’t have a schedule for today!” Aragorn complained, once he and his wife were alone to redress. “Faramir told me that he was taking the day off! Curse my credulity, I should have known that something was awry! He never takes the day off!”

“Why would you have, meleth?” Arwen asked reasonably, pausing to tie Aragorn’s tunic laces when he would have forgotten. “Faramir has never before given you cause to doubt his word.”

“But nor is he overly forthcoming, when he thinks that I will disapprove of something!” Aragorn distinguished, “The only way I know that is he planning to inflict another self-tormenting death visit on himself is to watch him at luncheon and see whether his appetite is poor!”

“But he did take yestereve ‘off’ to play that silly game,” Arwen pointed out, pulling on her own leggings and boots, “We were both pleased by that, as much as I don’t know why they like it so much. It would be much more fun if it were played on horse- back.”

That surprised a chuckle out of Aragorn, “Well, when we find Faramir and Legolas and find out what in the name of all that is good they were thinking, you can point that out to them!”

It was the last time that Aragorn laughed until much later that day. He soon found himself in his Citadel office, which adjoined the council chambers and Faramir’s own citadel office, interrogating Faramir’s poor squire Herion.

“I have no idea where he is!” Herion said, practically vibrating with concern, “Faramir NEVER goes anywhere without at least leaving a note for me or his secretary! He said he would do for himself today, and there’s no note!”

“I know, Herion, he told me much the same,” Aragorn soothed the distraught young man, “But do you have any idea where he might have gone? Or if he was in the Shades,” which Aragorn did not truly doubt. Lannor had good eyes and a good head on his shoulders, though Faramir normally did as well, “What he might have been doing there?”  
“No, my Lord!” Herion said firmly, “Faramir never had eyes for anyone until Lady Eowyn. The only reasons he’s been to the Shades are for duels and to go drinking with academy friends or off-duty rangers. And even then he wasn’t in the Shades proper, just the fringes!”

“What duels?” asked Aragorn sharply, resisting the impulse to rub at his temples to soothe his incipient headache.

“But those were a long time ago!” young Lady Alusina protested, “And it was really all Lord Luchanar’s fault! You see, he said that he’d gotten me pregnant even though I told him that I’d sooner kiss a snake then him, and then my governess was my Aunt Lindorie, who had been Faramir’s governess, and she accidentally said in front of Faramir that . . .”

Aragorn lifted up a hand to stop the young woman’s rush of words, “Alusina, thank you, but unless it’s recent, it’s probably not relevant.” Aragorn did want to hear the entirety of that story later, but he was all too aware that time might be of the es- sence, given Lannor’s report of the hard blow that Faramir had taken, and the possi- ble injury to Legolas as well.

“I just want to help,” Alusina cried, tears trembling in her bright gray-green eyes. Out of the corner of his eye, Aragorn noted Eowyn glaring at Alusina.

“I know, darling,” Arwen interjected, drawing Alusina gently aside, “But we’re focus- ing more on today’s events for the moment.”

"We have nothing more yet, Aragorn,” said Aragorn’s spymaster Ethiron, “Your boy is much more familiar with this city than we are. I have Dervorin and his staff out look- ing, but it was the Shades. No one will admit to seeing anything.”  
Aragorn nodded tightly. “And the assailants?”

“Waiting for you in the holding room on this level,” Magordan said, “Beregrond and his lads are with them, and Kalevi too.”

“Good. Send Gimli to meet me there if he arrives here before I return.” “As you say.”

“Herion, walk with me,” Aragorn commanded. On the way to the holding room, he further questioned Faramir’s squire about his young master’s activities.  
“So Faramir hasn’t been out drinking anywhere near the Shades, that you know of, since before the end of the War,” Aragorn established, wishing that Herion was as good at giving a concise report as Faramir himself.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“And the friends he used to go illicitly drinking with are all dead, or assigned else- where than Minas Tirith?”

“Yes. Mostly dead,” Herion confirmed sadly.

Aragorn silently cursed himself for a fool. Not only had he let a capable, overly clever teenager become his chief officer, he had then proceeded to send all of that child’s friends far away! No wonder that Faramir had bonded so quickly with Herion and Legolas. He’d had almost no one else of near his own age and experience to talk to.  
Aragorn promised himself that when he found Faramir, he’d do a better job of taking care of him. Even beyond making sure that Faramir ate properly, continued his arms training, and didn’t blame himself too much for the deaths of his fellow rangers. Well, that is, Aragorn would take better care of Faramir, after he finished taking the youth sternly to task for this disappearing act! And for going to dangerous places alone. And for wandering off after being assaulted. And thinking of that last . . .

Aragorn entered the holding room and grimly considered the six mountainous brigand- like soldiers shackled in irons there.

“Which one of you gentlemen would like to explain to me why you are here?” He asked, deadly quiet. For the first time since the end of the War, Aragorn felt himself ready to kill. And he was even angrier now than he’d been during most of those bat- tles. The orcs had fought because Sauron told them to. Enemy Men fought because  
their Kings told them to. These six men . . . they had assaulted Aragorn’s two dear young friends for no more reason than their own appetites and cruel sense of entitlement.

“We didn’t know that they were the Steward and a Prince!” one of the men protest- ed.  
“We thought that they were just out for a good time!” another chimed in.  
“Yes! That they wanted to have a little fun too!” a third babbled.  
All six of them had fear writ large and plain across their faces.

“Kalevi?” Aragorn asked his young countryman, “You were the first on the scene after Lannor. What did you see?”

“They assaulted Prince Faramir and Prince Legolas, your Grace,” Kalevi said stoutly, confirming Lannor’s report, “And they would have gone further, if we hadn’t stopped them.”

“But they know nothing else.”

“Not that Magordan, Beregrond, or Ethiron could wring out of them, no, Sir.”

“Keep them here for now,” Aragorn commanded, then returned to his office, mentally cursing the waste of time that talking to the six criminals had been.  
He arrived just a pace behind Gimli and Amrothos, who had immediately set at one another’s throats.

“What do you mean, you don’t know where your underaged cousin is?” Gimli roared at Amrothos.

Imrahil’s youngest son threw his hands up in disgust, “Faramir is a perfectly responsi- ble young man! I asked him how he was doing yesterday, and he said that he was do- ing well! I have no idea where he is today!”

“He’s a teenager, not a cat!” Gimli shouted back, “And your Da left you in charge of watching over him!”

“I thought that Father meant that in less expansive terms,” Amrothos protested, “Faramir always seemed in good spirits. And I did invite him to spend time with me! He seems to have a good head on his shoulders. Maybe it was your ward who led him astray?”

“Now just you wait a minute, you empty-headed dilettante! My lad is a war hero, and aye, he’s high-spirited, but he’s no trouble maker . . .” Gimli began.

“Friends!” Aragorn shouted loudly, slapping his hands down on his desk as forcefully as he could. That gained him at least the momentary attention of his two fire-haired and hot-tempered friends.

“It does not matter right now who led who into the Shades,” Aragorn said firmly, “Or even why. All that matters right now is finding them. We can discuss the other matters afterward. And Amrothos?” Aragorn added direly, “We WILL be discussing who is reponsible for watching Faramir. I think that his generally mature demeanor has encouraged all of us to let the matter slip more than it should. Not that it’s any excuse,” Aragorn added the last in a tone of disgust, mostly directed at himself. And he promised himself, once again, that when they found Faramir and Legolas, he WOULD take better care of Faramir. Even if it meant tying the youth to him with leading strings! That was Legolas’ probable fate at Gimli’s hands, after all. It wouldn’t hurt Faramir in the least to share it.

 

[Legolas POV]

 

Legolas sighed in relief as he and Faramir rode away from where they had left the bandits with guards at the docks, for he was now anxious to get on with their plans and make their way safely back into the city. What had seemed like an exciting ad- venture before had now turned into a race against the clock because of all the inter- ruptions and distractions that they had encountered. Things had definitely not gone as planned, which he hoped wouldn’t continue to be the trend of the day for it seemed that everything had gotten progressively worse. 

He had been appalled by the painted women they had encountered at the Shades, but looking back that now seemed like the most pleasant part of their journey so far. The coarse prostitute had disgusted him by offering him a kiss for a price, but that was a far sight better than the vulgar, drunken man who had tried to force one. He hadn’t managed it of course, but he had come close enough for Legolas to smell the man’s foul breath and feel his spittle on his face. He shuddered at the thought of what might have happened had some of the night shift guards not decided to stop in for a drink on their way home. He didn’t want to alarm Faramir by admitting it, but he hadn’t been sure that the two of them could have overcome those huge men on their own. In fact he had begun to feel quite panicked, especially after the one great lout had managed to disarm him. There were just so many of them, all built like moun- tains and egging one another on. It didn’t bear thinking about what might have hap- pened, but he didn’t need to since the guards had been there. 

It also didn’t bear thinking about how fortunate his one shot with the Gondorian bow had been. His arrow had gone completely wild, and it was sheer luck that the man had accidentally gotten his knee directly in its path. No there was no use thinking on it now. They had managed in spite of the odds against them, so it was time to turn his attention to the task at hand and move on. So why did he keep imagining Gimli’s face if he found out his charge had gone out into bandit and orc infested country with a weapon that was too big for him to wield and without even testing it properly? Let- ting him know he had slowed down another bandit by using the bow as a missile prob- ably wouldn’t change the dwarf’s thoughts on the matter, and neither would the fact that they had subdued the bandits in the end. Gimli had been very clear about where he expected his charge to be and where he most certainly must not be and what the consequences would be were he to get caught out of bounds. His earlier thoughts that he had not broken any promises were of little comfort now, for they had been contingent on his not getting found out, and that hoped for outcome seemed less and less likely at this point. He tried to put it out of his mind and focus, telling himself that he would not worry yet, but the slight tingle of anticipation in his rear end belied the falsehood. Evidently his concerns showed on his face, for Faramir spoke to him. 

“What is wrong?” Faramir asked. “You aren’t hurt are you?”

“No nothing like that,” Legolas assured him. “At least not yet,” he added, but only to himself. 

“Then why do you look so concerned? We’re almost there now.”

“We’re going to be late,” Legolas finally admitted his fears, “If we don’t make it back by dinner at the latest all hope of being undiscovered will be lost.”

“You can stop worrying then, my friend,” Faramir said. “Remember I told you there was a shortcut.”

“Right!” Legolas replied. “Only you never said why we didn’t take it to get here

Making a face, Faramir admitted, “Well it isn’t quite as safe as the way we came, but now...well now we are in a bigger hurry. You are right to say we won’t make it back in time if go back the way we came.”

“Not as safe as the way we came?” Legolas asked, sarcastically, “So you mean not as safe as prostitutes, and hordes of drunks the size of trolls, and bandits ready to slaughter us for our purses?”

Faramir only shrugged and offered an apologetic look, which made Legolas laugh suddenly and his heart to lighten for some reason. They had really dug themselves into a mess!

“Let’s do it then,” Legolas agreed. “But hurry!”

With that he urged Fire Demon to a gallop, leaving Faramir to catch him up on Daisy. Fortunately there was no more trouble before they finally made it to the docks where  
the three Eriadorian ships had been docked. 

Legolas’ heart sank and he exchanged anguished glances with Faramir when they saw what the first ship was carrying; nothing but timber! Had they thought about it, they might have known. Eriador had been almost completely deforested in the second age because of its valuable trees, but since then the forests had been restored and careful conservation techniques made it possible for the land to thrive on exporting trees and planks. They turned their hopes to the second ship.

Once the timber had been unloaded, some men started to log the deliveries while the wharfies turned their attention to the second ship. Legolas and Faramir also watched hopefully as the doors were finally opened and the hold began to be unloaded only to be disappointed again. 

“Have you nothing but goats?” Faramir shouted to a man who seemed to be checking off a list of expected items. 

“Nay, that looks like all we have here,” the man replied. “What were you hoping for young sir?”

“Pipeweed,” Faramir called. “Do you have any at all?”

“Are you even old enough to smoke, son?” the man laughed. “Maybe your mama don’t want me selling you pipeweed.”

The other men near him chuckled good naturally, but Legolas, who had had his fill of being considered ‘too young’ for various things did not find it funny. 

“Now see here,” he said, starting to bristle, but Faramir offered him a quelling look before interrupting him.

“It is not for me, Sir,” Faramir explained. “King Elessar fancies some and there is none to be found in the city. I have been commissioned to find some, so I had hoped  
you could help me. I know the King would be most grateful.” 

“We would be willing to pay a fair price,” Legolas added, catching on. 

“And for a worthy cause such as you suggest, I would be willing to sell you some, lads,” the man said. “Unfortunately I have none to sell. Perhaps the king would like  
some nice angora wool?” 

Rather than answer that question, Faramir asked hopefully, “what about the third ship?”

“There is never much call for it in the White City,” the man explained, “but I will check the inventory lists just to be sure.”

Legolas held his breath for the answer, for it would be devastating news to find that their difficult adventure had been for nothing at all. Unfortunately the news was not  
what they had hoped for. 

“Sorry lads, it is not on the list,” the man told them. “Check back in a month when we come back this way. I’ll spread the word that the King has made a request.”

The two youngsters looked at one another in disappointment and disbelief. Neither of them had even considered that they might come back to the Citadel empty handed.  
It was heartbreaking news, especially after the trouble they’d been through. But then Legolas had a sudden inspiration.

“What about the crew?” he asked. “Surely some of them smoke a pipe?”

Faramir’s eyes lit with hope. 

“That is so,” he agreed. “We would be willing to buy any man’s personal stash at a very fair price.”

“I’ll see what I can do, lads,” the man promised.

It didn’t take long for the man to round up a respectable supply of pipeweed, and since Eriador was near the Shire it had been mostly high quality Long Bottom Leaf. Legolas, of course, had no idea how that was different from any other pipe weed, but he knew Gimli would know, so he was quite delighted with the score! All that was left to do was to pay some men to return their rented horses to the stables.

“We won’t need them for the shortcut,” Faramir explained, when Legolas wondered why they must do this. He had become quite fond of Fire Demon, and was reluctant to say goodbye to him. Still if returning without the horses was faster, he was willing to make the sacrifice. He truly did not wish to be late!

Even so, he wasn’t quite sure if it wasn’t better to confess and deal with the consequences when he saw Faramir’s so called shortcut. 

“This is it?” Legolas asked, his voice sounding about an octave higher than he had meant for it to. He found himself staring down into what looked like a very narrow natural tunnel, many times smaller than the one they had used to leave the city. He cleared his throat and continued in a more normal voice. “Are you certain it’s safe?”   
“I already told you it wasn’t,” Faramir pointed out. “Or at least I don’t know for sure that it is safe. But our other option is coming home late, which we know for  
certain isn’t safe, at least not for certain parts of your anatomy. And probably not for your freedom for the rest of this visit either.”

Legolas scowled, because Faramir needn’t seem so amused at his predicament, nor so certain for the safety of his own person, for Faramir was still under age as well, and Aragorn had become rather fond of him. As his king, he may feel he had more rights than Faramir might agree with. Still what he said was true enough. Aragorn would no doubt be unhappy with them both, but Gimli would be furious. Thinking of Gimli made his stomach turn over nervously, for looking at the iffy looking tunnel reminded him of the lectures on cavern safety he had had to endure before being allowed to even enter Erebor or Aglarond.

Even so, he still wasn’t sure if it was worth it or not to use the tunnel passage. A spanking at his guardian’s hands was not something to take lightly, especially consid- ering Gimli’s thoughts on blatant disobedience and his feelings about his charge’s safety, but it might still be easier to endure than forcing himself into that...that rabbit hole that Faramir was calling a shortcut. Already he could feel himself struggling to breathe just by looking at it. But Faramir was looking at him expectantly, and how could explain his concerns without looking weak in front of his friend? Besides that, it wasn’t just his own rear end at risk, no matter what Faramir thought. He  
couldn't make that choice without forcing his friend to make it too. He ducked into the tunnel just behind Faramir, who had to bend over slightly to fit.

“It is caved in in some spots,” Faramir explained, “but I have heard that an agile, slender man can still fit through. Come on! Hurry, but carefully!

And so they did hurry as carefully as they could. Legoalas’ heart beat wildly in his chest and he had to force himself to breathe, and only look forward to where Faramir was going. He only needed to hold out until they reached the wider part of the secret tunnels, so he was careful to never stop and look at the wall that was only three inches in front of his face in some places. As long as Faramir kept moving and the tunnel ended soon he would be fine. He nearly panicked when Faramir stopped for a moment, but he managed to control his voice when he asked what the hold-up was. 

“There is a cave-in here,” Faramir explained. “I’ll have to squeeze around these fall- en boulders without causing an avalanche.”

Legolas bit his lip and closed his eyes as he waited for Faramir to do just that, then he very carefully followed him. It took all of his self-control to force himself to squeeze past boulders that actually scraped against his front and back as he slid through, but he managed it and caught up with Faramir, though his voice had a slightly hysterical twinge when he had to answer Faramir’s question.

“Are you all right, Legolas? You are trembling.”

“I am fine. Just keep going. Hurry!”

There was one more tight squeeze, though it wasn’t quite as bad as the first, before they made it to a junction that connected them to the much safer tunnels they had been in before. Legolas breathed a sigh of relief as Faramir closed the secret door behind him. They were only a few steps away when they heard a great booming crash and felt a slight shake. They looked behind them and then looked at one a mother wide eyed.

“That was close!” Faramir chuckled, just a little nervously, but Legolas couldn’t bring himself to laugh at all. He merely shuddered and shoved Faramir to get him moving again. His heart had almost returned to its normal pace when they opened another door and stepped back into Faramir’s dressing room. Legolas rushed into the bed- chamber and looked at the clock on the mantel, and only then did he find the desire to smile.

“Thirty minutes until we are expected for dinner!” he rejoiced. “We’ll need to hurry to get cleaned up, but we’ve done it!” 

“I knew we could!” Faramir was jubilant as well. “Now remember the story we praticed. We got it from a pair of traveling merchant who were just in the city for the day. They had it for their own use, but were willing to part with it for money. Keep it simple and as unexciting as possible or we’re sure to get questioned. But now hurry and get cleaned up. You can go first if you want. You’re filthy.”

Legolas laughed at that, for Faramir was just as dirty, but he didn’t argue. He was grateful for his insight in bringing clean clothes with him to bathe in Faramir’s room, for most likely Gimli was in their shared quarters right now and even if he could have explained away how filthy he was, he would have been too keyed up to hide from the dwarf that something was out of the ordinary. He needed to not only focus on getting clean, but also on calming his emotions so that Gimli would not become suspicious. 

He took several deep breaths as he lowed himself into the hot water of the deep sunken tub in Faramir’s private bathing chamber, but he could not allow himself the  
luxury of a long soak. Faramir was still waiting to bathe and time was running out. As quickly as he could he finished his ablutions and made way for Faramir to do the  
same. 

Legolas was dressed only in dark green velvet leggings and braiding his still damp hair when Faramir appeared wearing a towel around his waist, his red/blond hair disheveled from a recent towel drying. They both rapidly dressed, braided and combed side by side in Faramir’s burnished metal mirror and then they looked one another over just to be sure nothing looked out of place or suspicious. 

“Try to make your eyes look normal, Legolas. Other than that you look fine.”

“What do you mean make them look normal?” Legolas demanded. “They are normal.”

“They are too wide,” Faramir explained. “You look like you are hiding something. Just close them a little or something.”

Legolas turned to the mirror and sure enough, his eyes were round as saucers. It was a phenomenon that Gimli called “elfling eyes” and it always made him suspicious. He closed his eyes and then opened them again, concentrating on not opening them too wide. He turned back to Faramir.

“Much better,” Faramir praised. “Now just stay calm. Do I look all right?”

Legolas reached out and adjusted a stray lock of hair that seemed determined to stick up straight from the back of his head, and then the two of them took a deep breath and sedately made their way to the door and down the corridor toward the King’s private dining room. It would be just a small group at the table tonight. 

They hadn’t gotten far, when they were spotted by Halvon, one of the Citadel guards who had evidently been standing at the end of the corridor. His squinted into the darkness, rubbed his eyes and squinted again, before his eyes grew enormous and he sprinted toward them. The look on the greying man’s face was one of pure joy, so much so that Legolas half expected to be embraced when Halvon caught up with them. He stopped short and merely grasped each of them by the shoulder.

“Lord Faramir, Prince Legolas! I can hardly believe my eyes!”

Alarm bells were going off in Legolas’ mind, and when he glanced briefly at Faramir he could see he was shifting nervously from foot to foot.

“Why is that, Halvon?” Faramir cautiously asked.  
61

“Well the whole city has been searching for you for hours and here you are looking perfectly fit... and smelling like lavender soap! It is nothing short of a miracle! I have  
found them,” he called to another guard. “Hurry to inform the king!” 

Legolas felt the bottom drop out of his stomach at the same time he noticed Faramir going completely pale. They knew! Gimli knew he had been missing, and not only that, the whole city had been out searching for them! They were so doomed! For a moment his knees felt too weak to hold him upright and the pounding blood in his ears kept him from hearing what the smiling Halvon had to say. When he could make our words again it was to hearing Halvon thanking the Valar for their safety.

“Everyone was so worried,” he said, “where in the world...” he cut off the thought and then changed it. “Never mind. That is not my concern. Come, King Elessar and  
Lord Gimli are in the King’s office. They will be beyond thrilled to see you both!” 

“Umm...m...maybe we could,” Faramir started to turn back the other direction down the corridor. “That is, I may have forgotten something in my rooms. Help me find it  
Legolas?” 

That was it! They needed to go back to Faramir’s rooms, at least long enough to come up with a plausible story. But it was not to be.

“I don’t think that is such a good idea, my young Lord,” Halvon said taking each youngster by an arm. “You will want to be easing everyone’s mind without delay.”

He said this so firmly and without letting go of his strong grasp of each arm that Legolas and Faramir both knew there was no point in fighting the inevitable. Halvon was too well trained to give orders to those of a higher rank, but his determination was not something either of them felt they could fight. Halvon was their elder and there- fore someone who must be respected no matter his office. Legolas only wished he would walk at a more sedate pace. As it was, he felt like he was being dragged along like a naughty elfling. He didn’t like to think about the reason that he felt that way.


	6. Aragorn sketch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another sketch I thought you might enjoy-Beth


	7. Chapter 7

[Aragorn POV] 

After hours of fruitlessly searching for Faramir and Legolas, Aragorn was nearly frantic with fear. Gimli wasn’t much better. Even Amrothos’ normally cheery face had become pinched with fear. 

“Aragorn?” the very worried Ethiron inquired, “Lord Sendar has heard that we’ve lost Faramir and Prince Legolas. He’s offered to make inquiries with the merchants, and to post a ransom if they’ve been kidnapped.” Ethiron made a face, “For which Lord Sendar expects to be fully reimbursed, of course.” 

Aragorn chuckled despite his worry, “Sendar is a crusty old soul, but his heart’s in the right place. Tell him to make his enquiries. And have the guards at the Great Gate questioned.” 

“Surely Faramir and Legolas wouldn’t have gone outside the city!” Amrothos protested.

“I’m ready to explore all options, Amrothos,” Aragorn replied tiredly, “And we have to force ourselves to admit that it may not have been their own idea. If they were hurt when they stumbled away from the scene of their assault, and something just as nasty happened to them next . . .” 

“They’re talented warriors, but they’re just boys,” Gimli agreed wearily, “They’ve little experience in close quarters fighting. We’ve all heard how they foolishly hesitated to open that mannish refuse in the holding room from their guts to their garters!” 

Amrothos took a deep, frightened breath, “You think that it’s truly possible that they’ve been kidnapped?” 

“Yes, you fool!” snapped Gimli. 

“Either that,” Arwen remarked, sitting on Aragorn’s desk and swinging one leg idly back and forth, “Or two teenaged boys have managed to accidentally evade an entire city for a day, and are just waiting to show up again, fine and whole and pleased as tomcats with themselves for whatever they’ve accomplished.” 

Gimli snorted, unwilling to be impolite to Arwen but clearly feeling that entirely unlikely. 

“With all due respect, Lady Arwen,” Amrothos began, only to be interrupted by Aragorn. 

“Is this a premonition, meleth?” he asked hopefully. 

Arwen lifted up one palm in the elegant elven version of a shrug. “I don’t know. I’m hopeful. But you gentlemen should continue with your search unabated.” 

“That was inevitable,” Aragorn said with a tired grin, “I’m not going to relax until I have them both standing back here before us. And probably even then I’ll tie them to the chairs!” 

Gimli barked out a laugh. “If it’s as simple a matter as dear Arwen hopes, then my lad won’t want to be sitting at all!” 

“Either way, beloved, thank you for the moment of levity,” Aragorn said to his wife, before turning his attention back to the maps on his desk. The problem of finding Faramir and Legolas, he once again rued to himself, would be much easier if he had Faramir here to supply knowledge of the city and its surrounds! If only Aragorn hadn’t let Faramir’s erudition and intelligence make him forget that Faramir was still only a teenager! And if only all Aragorn had to deal with was the problem of what to do with that teenager, when he got him back! 

Just as he thought that, a glad cry came echoing down the hallway from the Steward’s apartments. 

“Your Grace! We’ve found them!” 

“What!?” Aragorn shouted back, his heart leaping for joy at the same time he couldn’t quite dismiss his fears. 

It was Lannor who stumbled into the room, grinning, “Halvon found them, near Faramir’s rooms! They’re perfectly fine! He’s bringing them here now.” 

Aragorn exchanged a look of profound relief with Gimli. Arwen nodded smugly to herself. Aragorn lovingly flicked her ear, which earned him a gratifying squeal. 

“Behave, children,” said Gimli with a chuckle, “We have some younger children to properly intimidate, after all.” 

“Yes, Gimli,” Aragorn and Arwen chorused in mock obedience, each of their faces sporting a smile. 

Mere moments later Guard Halvon appeared, with Legolas and Faramir quite literally in tow. Aragorn felt his heart skip a beat in profound relief. Both youths were unharmed. And just as Arwen had not-quite predicted, they were squeaky clean and innocent-seeming. 

Faramir was dressed in black velvet leggings, and a long, thin white silk undershirt sparsely embroidered with Dol Amroth’s blue swan-prowed ships at the hems, over which he wore a thicker silk tunic likewise in black with the white tree and the Steward’s rod emblazoned in bright white on the front. His shoulder-length red-gold hair was held back at the nape of his neck with a strip of black velvet. Legolas was similarly dressed, but in green velvet and with the symbols of his house instead, and with his hair in warrior’s braids. 

Aragorn’s relief was at first too profound for words. He was shocked-still for a few moments, watching as if from outside his body as Beregrond and Borlas politely but sincerely expressed their pleasure at seeing their Lord and his friend safe, while Lannor, Kalevi and Amrothos more exuberantly slapped Faramir and Legolas on their backs in a comradely fashion. Aragorn watched as Arwen hugged both youths, bestowing a kiss on each of their cheeks. Then Aragorn found himself moving, pulling Faramir into his arms and holding onto him tightly, with his hand cupped around the back of the slightly shorter Faramir’s head. 

“Ah, there you are, young man!” He said softly into Faramir’s ear, hardly even aware of what he was saying, and just barely aware out of the corner of his eye of Gimli embracing Legolas to their right. 

“Ah, yes,” Faramir said, his gray-blue eyes wide with both apology and uncertainty, “I’m here. We’re here. I didn’t – we didn’t – mean to make anyone worry.” 

“Ha!” Aragorn exclaimed, moving his hands to Faramir’s shoulders and shaking the youth slightly. He looked over Faramir’s shoulder at the crowd in his office and said, “Shoo, you lot. They’re fine. Go find something else to do. I’ll tally the bill for today’s time and expenditures later.” Aragorn mentally considered how satisfying it would be to take some of that tally out of Faramir’s oh-so-deserving hide! 

The guards all left, the Citadel guards serenely. Aragorn’s older northerners slapped Faramir and Legolas on the backs on their way out, while Lannor, Kalevi, and Amrothos gave the two unheeding youths looks of mingled pity and approbation. At last only Arwen, Aragorn, Gimli, and the youths remained. 

Arwen curtseyed, a movement that looked utterly silly in her leggings and tunic, which she surely knew. Eru, did Aragorn love his wife! 

“I’ll leave you alone now with your prey now, oh my Lord and Master. Oh, and Gimli. Do take care to eviscerate them cleanly!” Arwen said with a smile, blowing both Faramir and Legolas a last kiss before slipping out the door. 

Aragorn turned his attention back to his ‘prey.’ 

“First off,” he began quietly, “Faramir, Legolas. Are either of you injured?” 

“No, Sir,” said Faramir, who by the look of his left cheek bone was clearly lying. 

“I’m fine, Estel,” Legolas assured him. 

Aragorn left Legolas to Gimli with a clear conscience. Gimli had acquired in less than two years a better handle on Legolas’ equivocations than Aragorn had managed in decades. Aragorn focused his attention on Faramir. 

“Do allow me to rephrase my question, my dear intelligent Steward,” Aragorn began, his tone gently mocking. Reaching out to brush just above the bruise on Faramir’s cheek bone with just the lightest touch of his index finger, Aragorn asked, “Is this rather impressive bruise the extent of your injuries?” 

“Yes,” Fararmir quickly assured him. 

“Liar,” accused Aragorn fondly. He looked the wincing Faramir over thoroughly, estimating where his slender body would have impacted the tavern wall from the location of the bruise on his face and Aragorn’s memory of how tall the one ruffian had been. That exercise required Aragorn to once again repress his rage at the six men who had assaulted Faramir and Legolas.  Then, with all the care of a healer trained by Elrond Peredhel himself, Aragorn ever so gently placed a hand on top of Faramir’s ribs, “You neglected to mention the bruises here, my young friend,” he remarked, “and here,” he added, moving the same hand to just above where he estimated the contusion would be on Faramir’s hip bone, “and here,” he ended, kneeling down a little to place his hand just above the side of Faramir’s left knee. 

“Ah, yes, Sir, I suppose that I did,” Faramir admitted, “but they really aren’t worth mentioning!” 

“And yet my question was whether or not you had any other injuries, Faramir, and not whether they were ‘worth mentioning.’ Come, come Faramir. You’re normally more precise than this. A report on average rainfall that was full of this many holes would normally have you blushing! So tell me, do those bruises hurt more, less, or the same then the bruise on your face? Answer me carefully, Faramir. Because the healer in me is just one wrong word away from ordering you to strip just to be sure that you aren’t more hurt than you’re letting on.” 

“They hurt the same!” Faramir rushed to assure him, meeting Aragorn’s eyes and, for the first time in this conversation, not bothering to hide anything at all, “They’re not that bad! I got almost worse the one day that you talked me into extra wrestling lessons! Which, by the way, I do badly need more of!”

Aragorn had to laugh at that. “You certainly do, young man!” He agreed, relieved and proud that Faramir had decided that on his own, and even more relieved that the youth did not seem to be hiding a worse injury. 

“Stay right where you are,” he ordered Faramir, before turning his attention to Legolas, “And you, Trouble? How’s your left arm?” he asked, all affectionate exasperation. Ruefully, Aragorn had to admit, if only to himself, that he sounded very much like Lord Elrond once had! 

[Legolas POV] 

Being hauled to the King’s office was a salutary experience but it was over far too quickly all the same.  The sight of the office door made Legolas wish he had used the facilities once more before leaving Faramir’s quarters,but it was too late now.  He took  a shuddery breath and only had time for one nervous glance at Faramir before the door was jerked open and he was hauled inside.  

The room seemed to erupt!  Some men clapped him on the back, and Arwen kissed him firmly on the cheek, but he barely noticed because he only had eyes for one person.  Until that moment he had only thought about how much trouble he would be in once he reached the end of the walk of shame, but he suddenly felt overwhelmed with guilt.  Gimli’s face was white and as haggard as he had ever seen it and his black eyes were filled with worry.  Legolas felt a great hand grasp his arm and pull him close,  and two  large arms enfolded him in a tight embrace, pulling this head down to his shoulder.  He could feel the dwarf tremble slightly as he whispered, as much to himself as to Legolas.

“Thank Mahal, you are safe.”

Legolas melted into the embrace, burying his face in the dwarf’s neck

“I am sorry Elvellon,” he whispered, and at that moment he meant it with all his heart.  He hadn’t intended to cause so much trouble and so much worry. He felt terrible for causing the terrified look in his guardian’s eyes.  He should have planned thins more carefully so that no one would have had to worry.  He hadn’t meant to hurt anyone.

As if Gimli could read his thoughts he replied,

“Aye, Lad, I know you are sorry, but what are you sorry for hmm?  For causing trouble for everyone or for causing me to worry?  No doubt you are sorry to have gotten caught?”

Legolas knew better than to answer such a loaded question, so he settled for a non committal shrug, which was evidently not the answer his guardian was looking for, for he frowned severely and grasped the elf by the chin, something that was never a good sign.  His face was tilted to look down into Gimli’s stern face.

“Well whatever the case,” he firmly said,  “I am quite certain you will be a great deal sorrier before this evening ends, young elf.   Where have you been?”

Legolas took a deep breath, but Gimli put his fingers to the elf’s lips to stop him.

“No do not tell me,” he ordered.  “Not yet.  First I need to know if you are hurt in anyway, and I expect the full truth.  You will regret it woefully if I find you’ve been hiding something.”

About that time Aragorn, who had been speaking to Faramir in the background, turned his attention toward the elf.

“What about you, Trouble?” he asked. “How’s  your left arm?”

Legolas cringed, for it wasn’t a good sign that Aragorn already knew about that.  It meant that somehow information had already leaked and they had no way of knowing what had to be confessed and what could be blurred over.  

“You mean you…”

“Aye, lad, we heard about your encounter with six troll-sized hooligans at the Shades,”  Gimli told him.  “A place you were strictly forbidden to be.  So close your mouth and answer the question, quickly”

Legolas answered succinctly, for he knew that stalling at this juncture would not help his case.

“My arm is a little sore, but I am fine otherwise, other than a few small scrapes that are hardly noticeable.”

Of course he had to submit to an examination where he was poked and prodded and was asked to move his arm in all possible directions before Aragorn and Gimli were satisfied that he was telling the full truth.  The whole time Gimli scolded.

“This is exactly why you are not allowed to enter into that part of the city.  It is not a place for a well brought up young prince to spend his time.   When I think about what might have happened to you had those brutes had their way….”

He cut off his words and turned his back as if to gain control of his emotions, which of course made Legolas feel dreadful.  He placed what was meant to be a comforting hand on Gimli’s shoulder.

“There was no need to worry, Gimli, I can take care of myself.”

Words meant to placate had the opposite effect. for Gimli whirled around furious again, making Legolas reflexively step back.  

“Look me in the eye and say that again, boy!  Those men were double your size and there were six of them.  Thank the One that those guards had decided to have a nightcap on their way home or there is no telling what might have happened!  Aye, lad, they told us what they saw and what they heard, and then for you to come up missing for hours.   You cannot imagine what was going through my head all day!”

“I am so sorry,” Legolas whispered, finally beginning to see the full extent of the suffering they had caused.  He glanced at Aragorn and saw Gimli’s anguished expression mirrored in the man’s face, while Faramir appeared both sorry and nervous.  For a few heartbeats no one spoke, but then Aragorn sighed and whispered one  word.  

“Why?” he asked.  

“Why?” Faramir and Legolas repeated in unison.  It was a simple question, but the answer was quite complicated, especially since there had been no time to agree on what to say beforehand.  Unfortunately Aragorn insisted on an answer.

“Yes, why did you go there alone when you knew it was out of bounds.”

“Technically, we weren’t alone…” Faramir began, but evidently when he saw Aragorn and Gimli’s faces he quickly changed his mind,  “It was the only way out of the city without being observed…”

Aragorn's mouth dropped open, while Gimli's eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline; at the same time Legolas gasped and then offered Faramir a crushing look. Could he not have waited a little to see if it had been entirely necessary to throw them both into the fire?    Faramir had the least reaction of all, simply closing his eyes briefly and biting his lip as if trying to clamp his mouth shut.   Only it was much too late to take the words back. 

 Legolas took the precaution of taking another step back; he knew at times like these it was best to be out of Gimli’s immediate reach.  Not that it would matter much in the long run, but he could see Gimli clenching and unclenching his fists and knew the dwarf was holding himself firmly in check, and Legolas was hoping for a little more privacy before the dwarf gave his opinion on the events of the day. He continued to inch backwards while questions came so rapidly that it was hard to tell who was asking what.

“You left the city?”

“Without telling anyone?”

“Or without guards?”

“And against very clear orders.

“How, in Mahal’s name did you get out without being seen?”

It took a moment for Legolas to realize that last question was directed at him, and by his guardian’s face, he expected an answer immediately.   He gave Faramir one anguished, questioning look, but the young man was no help at all, for he only shrugged helplessly. By that point, Legolas had backed up nearly to the door, so when Gimli grasped him firmly by the arm and back into easy reach, he decided he had better come up with an answer and quick.  Unfortunately the truth was the only thing that came immediately to mind.

“We left through secret tunnels that begin in Faramir’s dressing room and ended on the first level of the city.”

Aragorn’s expression was one of complete shock.  His eyes nearly popped out of his head and he slapped his forehead so comically that Legolas might have laughed under different circumstances.  Gimli, however, only looked furious, though fortunately his wrath was aimed at the King this time..

“You gave a teenager quarters connected to a tunnel that leads directly to the most disreputable part of town?” he demanded,  “What were you thinking man?”

“I didn’t ‘give’ them to him, he already lived there!”  Aragorn defended himself.

“Then move him somewhere else, for crying out loud,” Gimli nearly shouted, “have you no common sense at all?”

“I didn’t know it was there!”  Aragorn raised his voice in his turn, and then added turning to Faramir, “Why didn’t you tell me about it when you showed me the ten million other secret tunnels?”

“I…I thought you knew Sire,” Faramir attempted to explain. 

“How could I possible know that, Faramir?”  Aragorn was clearly exasperated now.

“I had heard that Thorongil used to stay there often,” Faramir lowered his eyes and began to explain. “Mother used to use the tunnels to come to you when you…needed care.   You know, after you healed Boromir when he was gravely injured.” 

The use of Boromir’s name seemed to take a little edge off of the heated conversation, for Legolas noticed both Gimli and Aragorn’s faces soften ever so slightly.  He doubted that had been Faramir’s aim when he mentioned his lost brother, but Legolas couldn’t help being a little relieved anyway.  Things had been spirally very quickly out of control.  Aragorn sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose as if he were developing a headache.

“You still should have reminded me, Faramir,” he chided.  “That was a long time ago and I had forgotten.”

“I am sorry, Sire,” Faramir said, peeking up as if to gauge the King’s reaction.  Fortunately Aragorn had calmed a little.

“Never mind, lad, just continue with your tale.  Tell us everything.”

Legolas felt a firm finger tap the middle of his chest.  Evidently Estel and Gimli were back in agreement again.

“The same goes for you, elfling.  Tell us everything and miss nothing out if you know what’s good for you.”

Legolas knew the truth wouldn’t be good for him at all, but weighing that against being caught out in a falsehood, he took a deep breath and began telling the tale, attempting to skim over a few details, since Faramir didn’t seem to know how to edit.

Unfortunately between the two of them, Estel and Gimli knew exactly the wrong questions to ask.  Both youngsters cringed when Gimli brought up weaponry.

“You left both of your bows in our quarters, laddie.  I hope that doesn’t mean you left the city to go into orc infested country with only a pair of knives.”

Legolas gave Faramir a quelling look to remind him not to give too many details, so Faramir clamped his lips firmly together.

“Of course we were properly armed, Gimli,” Legolas answered as virtuously as he could manage.  “Faramir had his sword and bow, and I had my knives and a borrowed bow.”

Aragorn looked at him a little suspiciously.

“Borrowed from where?”

“Faramir loaned it to me.” he said as nonchalantly as possible, hoping against hope that no more questions would be asked.  Unfortunately Estel was very nosy.

“Faramir is five inches taller than you…” he began, earning a glare from the elf, before Gimli took up the same line of reasoning.

“Which means the bow itself was probably at least an inch taller than you,” the dwarf said, beginning to clench his fist again.   Legolas’ stomach to turn over with a sickening flop as his guardian warmed to the topic and raised his voice.  

 “Why you couldn’t have even drawn the thing, young elf!  Did you even attempt to try to wield it before you ran off harum scarum into peril?  How could you be so careless?”

It took all of Legolas self-control not to edge toward the door again, but Gimli must have sensed that for he grasped him by the forearm as he waited for an answer.  Before the elf could form something like a sensible response, Faramir panicked and tried to defend him.

“He still managed to sink a stray arrow into the knee of one of the bandits that accidentally got in the way, and then knocked down a second one by throwing the bow at him.”  

“Faramir!”  

Legolas wanted to throttle his less than helpful friend, even though he cringed and offered an apologetic look as soon as he realized what he had done.  Could the idiot not keep his tongue behind his teeth for five minutes?  But there was no time for any kind of response before Gimli was demanding more answers.

“Are you telling me you got into an altercation with bandits while you were only armed with a pair of knives and a bow that was too big for you to wield?  Have you taken leave of your senses, boy?”

“We still managed to subdue all four of them,” Legolas tried to defend himself, but evidently that line of reasoning was enough and too much for his guardian to respond to with words.  Legolas felt himself being suddenly yanked sideways and then a very heavy hand landing three times hard on the seat of his unfortunately rather thin leggings.  

He yelped in surprise, and then felt his face grow hot to the tips of his ears.  It was more embarrassing than painful, but even so he found it a struggle not to reach back to try to rub away the sting.  Gimli had a very hard hand!  Still he controlled the urge and settled for looking at the ground, but not before catching a glimpse of Faramir’s startled and sympathetic expression.  

At that point if finally dawned on Aragorn that the reason for the sudden jaunt out of the city hadn’t yet been explained, something he immediately demanded.  No one seemed impressed when the evidence of their reason was presented. Legolas found the bag of very valuable pipeweed yanked from his hand and slammed down on Aragorn’s desk.  Gimli looked particularly horrified.  

“I should never have complained about the rosemary leaves,” he whispered to himself, and then angrily to Faramir and Legolas, “You young fools!  Do you think your lives are worth less than eight ounces of Longbottom Leaf?”

“I had hoped to surprise you,” Legolas claimed, letting his eyes grow wide.  He knew quite well that the dwarf was truly very fond of him, and in spite of his claims, he was often won over by big sad eyes. For a moment Legolas entertained the thought that if he appeared contrite enough it might soften his dwarf’s stance, only this time it didn’t work at all.  If anything he seemed angrier than before.

“At what cost, you foolish elfling? And do not give me that look!”

Everything just went further down hill from there.  Faramir took over telling the tale, and evidently he had decided that they might as well expose every sorry detail, which Legolas ruefully had to agree with.  Trying to stay light on the truth hadn’t worked well so far, which he secretly thought was the fault of the annoyingly diligent Halvon, who wouldn’t give them even a moment alone to agree upon a story!    

 Legolas humiliated himself by putting a protective hand behind him when the subject of the partially caved in tunnel came up.  He fully expected another swat, especially when Faramir explained how that part of the adventure had ended.

“W…we probably should mark it as impassible now, Sire, since it seemed to collapse right behind us,” Faramir said.

But Gimli only tightened the grip on his charge’s  arm and shook his head in disbelief.  

“And after all those lessons on cavern safety,”  he mourned,  “I might as well have been speaking to a stone wall for all the good it did.   Well it seems to me we need to make certain this next lesson sinks in better than the last.  Come along, Lamb.”  

Legolas glanced up briefly to see Faramir offering him a very sympathetic glance, but it was Estel’s expression that took him by surprise.  Aragorn had become quiet during the end of the telling of the sorry tale.  Legolas had assumed he was seething in silence, but he could see now that the man looked more sad than anything else.  One fisted hand covered his mouth, and he looked as if he were almost ready to weep.  It was then that Legolas realized that Faramir’s sympathy might be better aimed at himself.  Making Estel angry was one thing, but frightening him nearly to tears was quite another, and Estel was very fond of Faramir!  It was difficult to believe that Faramir was going to get off completely unscathed no matter what the young man believed.  

Of course there was no time to contemplate that idea any further, for Gimli had also been frightened and it was time to pay the piper for his long list of sins.  Only then did Legolas notice that he was not being hauled toward the door that lead to the corridor, but to an open doorway that separated Aragorn’s office from Faramir’s.  Panic rose in his chest, making his heart beat rapidly.  He firmly planted his feet.

“Wh…where are we going?”

“Next door, laddie,” Gimli answered, giving his arm a jerk and forcing him to take another step. Legolas instinctively pulled back against his guardian.  He was honestly not trying to be difficult,  for he knew he was deserving of whatever punishment his dwarf decided upon, but the thought of it being administered within Faramir’s earshot was too mortifying to imagine.  Unfortunately Gimli seemed determined, and Legolas found himself turned to face him.  

 “I assumed you’d rather not answer for your naughtiness where we stand, though your reluctance to move makes me think I must have been wrong.  If that's the case, just say so, for I am willing to accommodate  you if that’s your preference.”

“NO!”  Legolas answered, but then modified his tone when Gimli raised an eyebrow.  “I mean, no Gimli, that is not my preference.  I…I just thought we would go back to our quarters.”

“ Well think again, young elf, for I have waited as long as I intend to,” Gimli answered.  “You should consider yourself very fortunate indeed that you have managed to remain standing for this long instead of lying across my lap, which is a situation that is going to last about another thirty seconds!  Now I suggest you cooperate and follow me immediately or I suspect you are going to very much wish you had.”

Legolas flushed miserably, but he did follow the dwarf with alacrity after that.  Gimli wasted no time in moving Faramir’s armless desk chair to the center of the room and seating himself in it.  Legolas bravely stepped within arm’s reach, and the dwarf grabbed him firmly by the sides of the hips and held him off a little ways, while he gave embarrassingly direct instructions, which Legolas felt was so much worse than just yanking him over his  lap!  With the second scenario there was no time to think of the humiliating situation he was in before the punishment was started and he was forced to focus on the pain.  Having to submit by lowering his own leggings or placing himself over someone’s lap was much more mentally trying, for it meant he had longer to ponder his fate and had to openly admit he was deserving of such a childish punishment by voluntarily submitting to it.  Neither option was a good one, but he much preferred the less talking, more action sort of spanking that Gimli usually delivered.  Of course, Gimli understood that very well and used it to his advantage at times.  Unfortunately this had been a very serious offense, or more truthfully a series of very serious offenses, so his guardian was evidently not interested in his preferences.  He took his time giving instructions on what he expected from his errant charge.  

“You are to keep your hands on the floor or wrapped around the chair rung or my leg.  Whatever is most comfortable as long as they stay out of the way.  I do not wish to accidentally damage your hands. Keep your feet and legs down as much as possible, but if you need help controlling them, I will help you.  Crying out is acceptable, but fits of pique or attempting to get out of position without permission will not be tolerated. Is that clear?”

Legolas  nodded, feeling the sting behind his eyes that meant tears were near even though he hadn’t even received the first swat.  He felt dreadful for what he had done and mortified at  the trouble it had caused and what it had brought him to.  He almost wished for the scorching pain that would take away both embarrassment and guilt, but it was not quite time.  He was at least relieved that Gimli hadn’t demanded a verbal answer, because he was sure he would have choked on the words.  Instead Gimli praised very softly.

“Good lad.  Now you know what comes next.  Lower your leggings and place yourself over my lap.”

Feeling his heart pounding, Legolas loosened the ties of his leggings with shaking hands and then lowered them just enough in back to expose his rear end, then nearly threw himself over Gimli’s lap.  He felt hard thighs press into his stomach, and then felt himself being shifted forward so that his hair fell around his face, curating off his view of the room.  His  felt his leggings being  peeled down to mid thigh, making a target out of the backs of his legs, which made his face grow even hotter at the picture he knew must be making.   He firmly gripped Gimli’s muscular lower leg with one hand and placed the other one flat on the floor and then prayed that the dwarf would just get on with it instead of taking more time to discuss things as he sometimes did. 

Unfortunately the Valar must have decided he did not deserve their favor for Gimli cleared his throat and laid one huge warm hand on the elfling’s naked behind.  

“Tell me, lamb, why do you find yourself in this most unfortunate position?”

Legolas opened his mouth to speak, but found that the words would not come out. This was his least favorite way to carry on a conversation.    He took a deep breath to try again, but evidently Gimli’s patience was at an end.  A smart slap landed on his right cheek, making him yelp indignantly, but at least it loosened his tongue.

“I disobeyed your order not to leave the Citadel unaccompanied,” he began, trying to think hard.  He knew it would go better for him if he got all the points right, and this time there was a long list.  “and to stay away from the questionable parts of the lower level, and to leave the city at all.”

“Indeed!  And?”

“And I deceived you about my plans for the day?”

“Yes, and?”

“And…I am trying to remember…ouch!”

A second sharp smack fell on the other cheek, and then a third and fourth. Legolas began to panic, knowing that the real punishment would not begin until he had correctly named all the reasons for it and at this rate he was never going to be able to sit down again. But it was difficult  enough to think with all the blood rushing to his head, let alone with  the distraction of a heavy dwarven hand belaboring his backside.  The only thing to do was plead.

“I know there are other reasons, but I can’t think of them.  Will you help me, Elvellon? Please!”

Gimli sighed and stilled his hand again, though this time it felt cool rather than warm, indicating that his rear end had surpassed Gimli’s hand  in heat. 

  “What about your borrowed weapons?”

“Right!  I went out of the city armed with an unfamiliar weapon!”

“Unfamiliar?”  Gimli raised his hand.

“I meant unfamiliar and too big!”  Legolas hurried to admit before the hand fell again, and then listed everything he could think of all in a rush,  “and hid from you on the way out of the city, and used a dangerous half caved in tunnel and then attempted to cover over some of the details once we’d been caught. Also it was my idea to begin with.  Faramir only agreed to it.  I made him do it.”

“I think Faramir is equally culpable, my lad,” Gimli chuckled, “though I thank you for your honesty.  But there is one more vital thing you are forgetting.”

Legolas thought hard, but for the life of him he couldn’t come up with another crime to list, so he decided to throw himself on his guardian’s mercy as humbly as he possibly could.

“I am trying to figure it out, Elvellon, I swear I am, but I just do not know.   Please just tell me.”

“You showed that you  place too little value on your own well being by putting yourself at risk over something so trivial as pipe weed. How do you think I would have felt had you been injured or worse while trying to do me this dangerous favor?”

Gimli’s voice broke a little  when he spoke, which was Legolas undoing.  He felt tears he had been holding back  well up and spill over onto the floor and he wept silently for frighteningly close calls he had experienced that day and for all the pain he caused others, especially his guardian, who he had been hoping to please.

“I am truly sorry,” he whispered, “I didn’t think of that.”

Legolas felt Gimli tighten the grip on his waist as he said, “Aye, well let us make certain that you think of it next time!”

Recognizing that that meant that the talking part of the discussion was now ended, he tensed in anticipation of the next swat, which landed much harder than the first ones had.  He yelped in surprise, but then bit his lip and did his best to remain stoic as Gimli’s right hand landed over and over on his very vulnerable flesh.  One difficult thing about having a dwarf as a guardian was that Gimli’s hands were enormous compared to Legolas’ relatively narrow backside, so that each spank that landed covered most of his backside at once, so it didn’t take long for the layers of pain to build to scorching levels.  

Very quickly he found himself rocking from side to side trying to get out of the way of the onslaught, or at least to force the swats to land in a fresh area, but it was to little avail.   Gimli only tightened his grip and carried on until the elf couldn’t help silent tears that poured down his face.  He also couldn’t help kicking furiously to try to express his distress without making a sound, but Gimli soon put a stop to that option by  locking Legolas’ legs between his own.  Still  the elf managed to remain silent, but it wasn’t long before Gimli noticed his technique for doing so and put a swift end to it .

“Lip biting is not allowed, young elf! Stop that this instant!”  

Those word accompanied by two very sharp swats to the backs of his thighs, meant it was no longer any use trying to retain a scrap of dignity by keeping quiet.  Once he released his lip, he could  no longer stop the howl of pain that issued from his throat, or the promises of better behavior in the future that spilled from his lips  Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, his concern for his dignity diminished in direct proportion to the increase of the pain in his now very scorched rear end and he stopped even bothering trying not to cry out.  

His was relieved when his legs were  released, but it was short lived, and only so that Gimli could tip him further forward in order to pay special attention to the delicate flesh where bottom and thighs meet. He knew he would be thinking of his dwarf for a few days every time he tried to sit down.   By that point he could do nothing but sob incoherently and wait for Gimli to decide he had sufficiently learned a lesson.  The two  were seldom in agreement on when that moment arrived, but just when he feared his rear end might burst into flame and singe Gimli’s beard, he felt the hand that had just been chastising him, gently stroking his back.  

“All over Lamb,” he whispered,  “you have done well and you may rise as soon as you wish.”

For a few minutes Legolas could only continue to sob and listen to the sound Gimli’s soothing voice, but soon he began to realize how he must look and the embarrassment of lying half dressed over his guardian’s lap overpowered the comfort he gained from it.  He rose slowly and allowed Gimli to help him dress again.  Hi hissed when the soft fabric  of his leggings came in contact with his tender rear end and again when Gimli lead him over to a couch where he sat down and pulled the elf down next to him and gathered him into his ams.  Sitting was painful, but it was worth it for the much needed comfort he received.  Legolas buried his face in Gimli’s broad shoulder and he tried to get  his emotions under control, while Gimli smoothed down his hair and whispered soft words of encouragement.  It wasn’t until he was breathing normally again that Gimli tenderly, but firmly cupped his chin and lifted his face so that he had to look into the kind but serious black eyes.

“You are never, ever to put yourself at risk for such an unimportant reason, young elf, nor will you disobey rules put in place for your safety.  I want you to promise me, out loud this time.”

“I promise,” the elf whispered, but when Gimli frowned he continued, knowing that those two words wouldn’t be enough by themselves.  He had lost a little trust by  omitting part of the truth in his earlier promises and he knew it.   “I mean I promise to obey  your rules and not to do anything risky for a trivial reason.”

“Good lad,” Gimli let his chin go and allowed him to rest his head back on the dwarf’s shoulder, but he still was not done speaking.  “Also you are to remain within my sight at all times until further notice.”

Legolas groaned, for that was very bad news.  A spanking from his dwarf was difficult to deal with, but at least it was over fairly quickly.  Being confined to his side would drag on and on, and he knew for a fact that Gimli had plans for one boring meeting and planning session after another for at least two weeks.  Still there was no point in complaining, so he didn’t bother.

“Yes Gimli.” he sighed, accepting his fate with as much grace as he could muster.

After that there was little more to say and only then did Legolas notice the sounds beginning to come from the next room; sounds that were woefully familiar.  There was no mistaking the sound of a hard hand on bare flesh, nor the accompanying yelps and cries that came with it. He flinched in sympathy  for poor Faramir with every loud swat, and Gimli must have noticed for he tried to console him.  

“Never mind lamb, your friend will survive.  Aye and be better for it besides!  It’s about time that someone took proper care of that young man!”   

Snuggling deeper into his dwarf’s side and winding one slender hand in his thick soft beard, Legolas silently agreed.  It really was good to have someone who cared, even if they showed that care in ways that were not always pleasant.  He truly wanted that for Faramir who had lost far too much in the past year.  

Still he was secretly a little glad to know that he was not entirely alone in his disgrace, even though he tried to squash that unworthy thought.  There was some comfort in knowing that his friend hadn’t gotten off scot free while he suffered for his sins alone.  He must haves smiled a little or let his face show his thoughts, for Gimli frowned and mock scolded.

“It ill becomes you to enjoy someone else’s comeuppance  young elf!”  But when Legolas tried to straighten his face into a suitably sorrowful expression, Gimli softened his stance and chuckled.  “Ah well never mind, lamb, I guess what Mam always says is true;  Misery loves company.”


	8. Chapter 8

[Faramir POV] 

Faramir was left staring in dismayed and sympathetic silence as Legolas was hustled off into Faramir’s own office to be taken over Gimli’s knee and spanked. Faramir dared a glance towards Aragorn, but the King was silent, his hand before his mouth as if in thought. Quiet prevailed in the King’s office, such that Faramir could hear the murmur of voices from the open doorway, then the sharp clap of a firm palm striking a muscular backside just once. Then there was another murmur of voices, interspersed by a few more loud smacks, before Legolas’ spanking began in earnest. 

The sounds of his friend’s bottom being lit on fire gave Faramir almost the same sensation of having nearly missed out on a horrible fate as listening to the cave-in of the river tunnel just after they’d stepped out of it. Faramir was certainly glad that he wasn’t Legolas right now! Even if Faramir did sometimes wish that Aragorn – and Arwen - would take even more of an interest in him, and that he had adults to help him deal with the parts of his life as Steward that were just too much for a teenager. That would probably be worth the occasional spanking when caught out of bounds, Faramir thought. Except during the humiliating and painful moments when such spankings actually took place, of course! Faramir was not sorry to miss out on those.

And poor Legolas! To have to undergo such an indignity while Aragorn and Faramir were both listening to every smack and outcry. And to have had his spanking start while Faramir and Aragorn were both watching! Oh, those three hefty swats hadn’t been a full-blown spanking, but Faramir thought that he would have died of mortification in Legolas’ place. And he could certainly understand after witnessing that quick, impromptu spanking why Legolas had comically put a hand behind him to protect his bottom from Gimli when Faramir confessed about the damaged tunnel caving in. It would have been unkind to laugh at what was more typically a little child’s act, but Faramir had not even been tempted in the moment because he was more worried about Aragorn’s reaction to his confession. Or rather, non-reaction. Thus far, Aragorn had been very quiet. 

Gimli must have a very hard hand indeed, for the sound of his spanks echoed loudly around both of the stone-walled offices. Legolas must have tried his best to stay quiet and bear his ordeal with some dignity, but before long his cries of distress were also ringing in Faramir’s ears. Faramir, who hadn’t been spanked with only a hand in several years, thought that Legolas was making a bit much of the whole experience. Faramir had certainly never cried and carried on like that over a simple hand spanking! Still, he made a mental promise to himself not to mock Legolas for it later. At least not too much! 

“Faramir,” Aragorn ordered quietly, “Come here.” 

“Sir?” Faramir asked, for he was nearly standing in front of the King as it was. But he took one step closer, then found himself enveloped in another hard embrace. One of the King’s muscular arms was wound around Faramir’s right shoulder. The arm was started around his left, but the King’s hand stretched up to cradle the back of Faramir’s head. Aragorn’s first hug when Faramir and Legolas had entered the room had taken Faramir so much by surprise that he hadn’t been able to respond. This time he hesitated for a moment, but then he did return the embrace. 

“You’re a clever, kind, capable young man, Faramir,” Aragorn said softly but clearly, just above Faramir’s ear, “But today you acted the fool. And it nearly got you and Legolas killed, three times over! I was more worried and fearful for you today than I have been afraid of anything since the end of the Ring War. And aye, more so than many days during!” 

“I’m sorry, Sir!” Faramir said sincerely, desperately hoping that he wouldn’t lose the King’s good opinion as a result of his heedlessness today. More and more Faramir had been wishing that he’d thought of some better way to go after the pipe weed! After all, would it truly have been so bad to draw Arwen or maybe cousin Amrothos into their confidence? With more help and advance permission from some responsible adult in their circle, couldn’t the whole errand have been accomplished much more easily and safely? Faramir was mentally kicking himself for not having thought of that earlier, before it was too late! 

“I can tell that you are,” Aragorn conceded, releasing Faramir and taking a step away, but once again placing one hand on each of Faramir’s shoulders, “But I would be remiss in my duty to you, as your King and as a friend who cares about you, if I let this matter go at just that.” 

“Yes, Sir,” Faramir answered, not knowing what to say, but hoping at least this meant that the King was not washing his hands of Faramir. 

Some of that might have showed in Faramir’s eyes plainly enough for Aragorn to read it, for the King chuckled and moved one of his hands up to give Faramir’s uninjured cheek a fond pat. 

“Don’t be foolish, my dear young friend,” the King scolded, returning his hand to Faramir’s other shoulder, “I’m hardly going to think less of you for a few bad decisions on one day, however stupid they were, when you’ve served me admirably and well as my right hand for months. And all of that despite your tender years.” 

“Thank you, Sir,” said Faramir, flushing at both the praise and the condemnation of his actions this day as “stupid.” It was a word Aragorn did not use often, or lightly. 

Aragorn nodded back at him. “Now that that’s settled, we truly will have to make some adjustments in your living situation. Both with respect to where you live, and who is in charge of you.” 

“I don’t need . . .” Faramir began, only to trail off at the incredulous look in the King’s gray-blue eyes. “I am not a child, Sir!” Faramir objected. 

“And you did such a wonderful job of proving that today,” Aragorn remarked wryly, slapping Faramir on the back. 

“Well, not today . . .” Faramir allowed. 

“Just as well,” Aragorn replied, “If it wasn’t today, it may well have been something worse. Duels in the fringes of the Shades, young man?” 

Faramir’s face flushed again, and he protested, “But that was years ago!” 

“Yes,” the King mocked gently, “Two of them! So very long ago. But never mind that for now. You are eighteen; the age of majority is twenty. You will have a formal guardian until your twentieth birthday.” 

Likely noting the displeased expression on Faramir’s face, Aragorn added, “You will have a say in who it is to be, Faramir. You have certainly earned that. But the final decision will be made amongst myself, Arwen, and your Uncle Imrahil.” 

“Not cousin Amrothos?” Faramir asked. 

Aragorn snorted, “If I had a cat, I might let Amrothos watch him when I went out of town. Under no circumstances in the future will he ever again be entrusted with care of you. Is that understood?” 

“It wasn’t really Amrothos’ fault,” Faramir protested on his cousin’s behalf, unable to entirely hide a flash of pleasure that Aragorn valued Faramir so highly. 

“Nor was it entirely yours,” Aragorn pointed out, his blue-gray eyes intent, “I blame myself for not keeping a closer eye on you. Particularly when you asked for a day off!” The King shook his head in disgust, seemingly aimed at himself. 

Aragorn took a deep breath, then ordered, “Tomorrow and every other day this week you will spend part of your afternoons helping the guards clean their armor and weapons. Many of them spent their off-shifts looking for you. You will also write them a note of apology. Two notes, actually. One for the Citadel Guards, and one for the King’s Guard.” 

“Yes, Sir,” Faramir agreed, his face flushing in embarrassment. It was a fair consequence, though, that he had to agree. 

“You also owe apologies to our good spy masters, and to Lord Sendar, who was willing to post a ransom for you and Legolas.” 

“Sendar?” Faramir marveled, “But he doesn’t even like me!” 

Aragorn half-smiled, his eyes twinkling, “I think he likes you much better than he lets on. But nevertheless, you owe him your thanks for his trouble.” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

“And you will spend at least two hours at some point this week washing dishes in the kitchens, to repay the cooks who stayed late to prepare food for all of the folk searching for you.” 

“Yes, Sir,” Faramir agreed, trying to hide a groan. He hated washing dishes. He also hated the thought that so much time and effort today had been wasted looking for him and Legolas, and that most of it was their own fault. There was at least something he could do to help make up for it. 

“I’ll reimburse the funds used to pay overtime to the guards and the cooks, Sir,” Faramir offered. 

Aragorn snorted again, “No. I’ll pay for that. Don’t worry, though. I will be taking it out of your allowance.” 

“But I don’t have an allowance,” Faramir replied, confused, “I receive interest payments from the trust funds Boromir and Daerada Adrahil established in my name. Do you mean that?” 

“No,” Aragorn retorted levelly, before explaining, “Consider yourself as having received an allowance since just after the war, Faramir. We'll discuss the amount with Arwen later. That amount, you get to keep. But you don't receive any more of it from today on until you're done paying me back for the salaries and fees I paid half the city to look for you today.” 

“Yes, Sir,” said Faramir, before tilting his head quizzically, “But . . . pardon, Aragorn, but can you do that?” 

“I like that you just called me by name,” Aragorn teasingly replied, “And yes, I can give my money away to whomever I choose, Faramir.” 

“Yes, I mean, of course you can,” Faramir agreed, “but I haven't done anything to earn it, and don’t . . . you have much less of it than Queen Arwen?” 

“Numbers aren't your strong suit, are they, Faramir?” Aragorn replied wryly, “Either that, or you're too honorable and insufficiently curious to have looked at the records of my personal funds. We'll work on that. Suffice to say, I, too, am accounted a son of Elrond by that worthy himself. And I am a grandchild-by-law of Galadriel. My personal means are not insubstantial.” 

Faramir could believe that, but he still didn’t understand why Aragorn wanted to spend any of his money giving Faramir an allowance, of all things! And especially after Faramir had caused so much trouble today. 

“I’m not done, Faramir,” Aragorn said sternly, apparently having noticed that his Steward’s attention was wandering. 

“I’m sorry, Sir,” Faramir apologized emphatically, wanting Aragorn to know that he was taking his mistakes today very much to heart. 

“As I said before, I know that you are sorry,” Aragorn recognized, “And I’m glad that you are taking this seriously. I’m proud of you for accepting the consequences of your mistakes thus far. This next one, though, I know that you’re not going to like.” Aragorn paused for a moment as Legolas’ cries reached a crescendo, and then subsided to quiet weeping as the sound of vigorous spanking ceased. 

“Sir?” Faramir inquired uneasily. 

“Can you give me one good reason, Faramir, why I shouldn’t take you over my knee and spank you soundly?” Aragorn asked, his slate gray eyes very serious. 

“Ah . . .,” Faramir floundered, his face beginning to blush furiously as he thought. There really wasn’t a good reason, he realized. Oh, he hadn’t known for certain that he was risking a spanking. No one had suggested it ahead of time. But he had risked his life, and a friend’s, for something as ultimately inconsequential as pipe smoke. And so he had to unhappily confess, “No, Sir. I can’t.” 

Aragorn nodded at him, appearing almost proud. “You’re a brave young man, Faramir, and I am proud of you,” he said, proving that impression correct, as little comfort as it was at the moment. “Now,” Aragorn continued, “I know that you have been mistreated in the past for your courage and kindness in aiding Sam and Frodo. And I know that such a cruel experience can make even a justified and careful spanking seem frightening, even for a brave man. So if you would rather wait and ask your Uncle Imrahil what consequences he wishes to impose when he returns, I will let this matter go. Or if you feel more comfortable with your cousin Amrothos disciplining you in such a personal way, I will allow that as well. It is up to you,” Aragorn finished kindly, his right hand now patting Faramir’s shoulder gently, “I will not take offense, nor will I hold it against you.” 

“No, Sir,” said Faramir, his face still flaming, “I trust you.” 

“Thank you for that,” Aragorn replied, squeezing Faramir’s good shoulder, “Now, let’s get this over with.” 

With one hand behind his reluctant Steward’s back, Aragorn guided Faramir over to the settee by the window where Arwen frequently sat to read her own correspondence while Aragorn toiled at his desk. The window, fortunately, was closed, and Aragorn moved his hand away from Faramir’s back to draw the curtains. Then he turned to face Faramir again. 

“You might as well take off your tunic, your boots, and your leggings,” the King advised, “you won’t need them for the next bit.” 

“What?” Faramir asked, a little taken aback. 

The expression in his blue-gray eyes partly sympathetic and partly amused, Aragorn solicitously asked, “Would you like a hand with your boots?” 

“No,” Faramir replied, biting back a smart remark, “I’ve got them.” He sat down and took off his boots. Then, with a feeling of impending doom, he doffed his tunic, laying it carefully over a nearby chair. Then, glancing over at Aragorn, he plaintively asked, “May I keep my leggings on, please, Sir? You could use your belt instead of your hand?” he offered. 

Aragorn raised a brow at that, then, when it was clear that Faramir was awaiting a verbal answer, said, “No, I don’t think so, Faramir. Take off your leggings, and your small clothes. Unless you want to wait until Legolas and Gimli rejoin us?” he added, not even trying to hide a smile. 

“No!” Faramir quickly objected, removing his leggings and small clothes so fast that he nearly tripped over them. He would have, in fact, if Aragorn’s hand hadn’t suddenly been there to steady him. 

Then Aragorn sat down in the center of the settee, and took Faramir’s nearer hand, drawing Faramir towards him. Faramir, clad only in his light silk undershirt which ended a bit above his knees, felt very vulnerable. Yes, this man was his father, although Aragorn didn’t know that, but he was also a king, warrior, and leader of men whom Faramir greatly respected! Faramir hadn’t ever wanted to find himself bare-bottomed over Aragorn’s knee!

But it did not seem that he had a choice. A gentle tug of Aragorn’s hand had Faramir laying himself down carefully over the King’s lap. Once he was there, Aragorn shifted him forward a little, then lifted Faramir’s undershirt and pulled it up so that Faramir’s bare backside was entirely exposed. Aragorn’s right arm circled tightly around Faramir’s waist, holding Faramir fast against him. Faramir wrapped his arms around a pillow at the top of the settee and rested his forehead against the soft red fabric. He was going to try to get through this without crying out! 

A broad, calloused palm came to rest gently against Faramir’s right bottom cheek. 

“Are you ready, Faramir?” Aragorn asked kindly. 

“Not really,” Faramir answered honestly, “But you might as well go ahead.” 

“Brave lad,” the King said a quiet chuckle, and then Faramir felt the light pressure of his hand lift. A rush of air signaled the approach of the first swat, but it in no way prepared Faramir for how firm that first swat was! It landed on the exact center of his buttocks, and the smarting pain it left behind elicited a startled yelp from Faramir, despite his best intentions. 

Aragorn, curse him, chuckled a little at that, and said, “Don’t worry, Faramir. I almost never got through a spanking from my Ada Elrond, or either of my brothers, without yelling loudly enough to wake the dead!” 

That would have been something of a comfort, if Aragorn’s hand hadn’t continued addressing firm smacks to Faramir’s bottom cheeks the entire time he spoke. Faramir found himself wide-eyed in startled, unhappy surprise at how much each spank stung! His arms tightened around the pillow as he desperately tried to keep himself quiet. 

The sound of Aragorn’s hand smacking his backside was loud in the quiet room, but Faramir hardly noticed that, he was too preoccupied with the building heat on his rear! He hissed in pain and discomfort, fighting the urge to squirm away. 

“What will you do differently next time, Faramir?” Aragorn quietly asked, his hand landing hard smacks to Faramir’s hindquarters with every word. 

“Ask . . . someone for help!” Faramir gasped, “Arwen . . . or one of the guards!” 

“Arwen is fine,” Aragorn replied, the force of his swats lessening just slightly, “And you’re to take at least four guards with you in the future, any time you leave the Citadel.” 

“Four!” Faramir protested, despite his unfortunate position and his smarting rear, “Lord Denethor only took two!” 

“And when you’ve regained my confidence in your decision making regarding your own safety,” Aragorn replied, his hand landing particularly firmly on the word ‘safety,’ “then you, too, may leave with only two guards. Until then, I suggest,” another particularly hard smack, “that you do as I say,” and another particularly stinging swat. 

“I will! I will!” Faramir promised loudly, starting to kick his feet a bit. 

Aragorn chuckled again, “Don’t worry, young man. I will reiterate these rules again when you’re on your feet. But I do think that they may stick in your mind better if you hear them this way first.” 

There was no doubt of that! Faramir would never forget anything he was hearing now, he was quite sure of it! To add to his distress, the King had stopped alternating bottom cheeks as he spanked, and was now addressing a series of firm swats in one place before shifting to another. Faramir now whole-heartedly regretted having laughed a little on the inside as Legolas put a hand back to protect his bottom, for it was all Faramir could do to keep his hands twined around the pillow on the settee rather than reaching back to protect his throbbing posterior! Aragorn’s spanks had his backside burning as if an entire hive of bees had stung it! 

“And you will,” Aragorn continued his lecture, “inform me, or leave word for me, any time you leave the citadel. You will explain where you are going, whom you will see, and when you expect to be back. Is that clear, Faramir?” Aragorn punctuated his question with a series of rapid, stinging spanks. 

“I will!” Faramir yelped loudly in answer, “I promise!” 

“Good,” said Aragorn, pausing in his spanking and shifting Faramir forward a little bit. At first that was a relief, for it meant that Faramir’s very thoroughly spanked bottom cheeks were mostly out of the way. But quickly Faramir realized that it was no blessing whatsoever, for his more sensitive undercurves and sit spots were now perfectly exposed for the King’s attentions. And Aragorn was lamentably attentive! 

“Nothing like this,” the King said firmly, addressing sound smacks to Faramir’s left and right undercurves and sit spots each in turn, “will ever happen again. Is that understood, Faramir?”

“Yes, Sir!” Faramir howled, his feet kicking up a storm now. 

“Good,” said Aragorn firmly, “Now, let’s make sure that this lesson has properly sunk in!” With that, the King adjusted Faramir slightly over his knees again, and began another round of spanks to the fuller parts of Faramir’s buttocks. At first that was again a relief, for Faramir’s undercurves and sit spots were now thoroughly roasted. 

But soon enough, the fires that the King re-lit to Faramir’s bottom cheeks had him yelping and crying out protests and promises of better behavior in the future. The intensity of his cries only increased when Aragorn returned to spanking the tenderest parts of his bottom. At that point, Faramir broke down crying, unable to focus enough to coherently make any further verbal protests. This was one of the worst spankings he could ever remember getting, and yet Aragorn had only used his hand! 

Gradually Faramir realized that Aragorn had ceased spanking him, and was now using his right hand to tenderly pat Faramir’s back. 

“Shh, lad,” Aragorn soothed, “’Tis over. You took that well,” he continued, even though Faramir had cried like a child, “I’m proud of you.” 

“I’m sorry,” Faramir said again, his voice hoarse with tears. 

“I know,” Aragorn said sincerely. Then his right arm slipped under Faramir’s stomach, and he helped pull Faramir to his feet, steadying him when Faramir would have fallen. Faramir gasped in discomfort, for even the feeling of the soft, thin silk of his undershirt brushing against his burning bottom as it fell back down to just above his knees made the stinging worse! 

But then Aragorn’s arms were around him again. His left hand tightly cupped Faramir’s head again, further mussing the red-gold waves of hair that had mostly escaped the black velvet tie which had once held them back so neatly. 

Faramir tilted his head down, resting it against Aragorn’s right shoulder while he tried to calm his breathing. He was so relieved to have the whole ordeal over! And to have the King still holding him so tightly, as if Faramir was the only thing in the world that mattered right now to Aragorn. It was more than Faramir had ever hoped to have from the man who was his true father, the spanking aside. And even that showed how much Aragorn cared, as little as Faramir had liked the form that caring had taken. 

“Faramir,” Aragorn called, to catch his attention. 

“Mmm?” Faramir inquired, reluctantly lifting his head to meet the King’s eyes. It was a stupid thing to have done, Faramir quickly realized, while he was still thinking of how much he wished that Aragorn could actually be his father. No matter what Chief Archivist Arradon said, that was a pipe dream. And Faramir did his best not to hope for things that he could never have. Life in Denethor’s Gondor had taught him that lesson, and he’d learned it well. 

“Faramir,” Aragorn said, his voice now hoarse as well, “You are a fine young man. Any man,” he shook Faramir’s shoulders slightly in emphasis, “Would be proud to have you as his son.” 

“Ah, yes Sir,” Faramir answered quietly, casting his eyes down again before he betrayed more than it was good for Aragorn to know. 

The King’s thumb and forefinger reached out to gently tip Faramir’s chin up so that their eyes met again, blue-gray to blue-gray. 

“I’m sorry if you have ever felt alone, here in your home,” Aragorn said softly, but vehemently, “You are not, any longer. You have me, and you have Arwen. And we will not abandon you, no matter how many stupid things you do. Do you understand me, Faramir?” 

“Yes, Sir,” Faramir murmured, trying to smile. It was so much more than he had ever hoped, and at the same time, less than he might have been able to have if things had been different! But he couldn’t ever let on to that! 

Aragorn sighed, and pulled Faramir tight against his chest again, “You don’t really understand,” the King’s voice rumbled against Faramir, “But you will, I think, in time. I’m rather stubborn when it comes to my friends. You’ll figure it out. You’re a very clever lad, after all.” 

“Most folk say so,” Faramir jested back, “Not normally Lord Sendar, though. Most days I think he’d be happy to let the southrons have me!” 

Aragorn shuddered lightly at that, and then he protested, “You’ll have to give me a day or two before jokes along that line are funny! But for now, I believe we have company.”


	9. Chapter 9

Faramir reluctantly turned his head to see Gimli and a red-eyed Legolas on their way back through the door way to Faramir’s office. Legolas’ fair face was blotchy, as if it had recently been tracked in tears. Which, of course, Faramir knew that it had. In fact, Faramir’s own face was still tear-streaked. They made quite a pair, Faramir thought to himself. This morning they’d set out on their ill-considered plan feeling very self-confident and quite grown and capable, and look where it had gotten them! Thoroughly spanked and sorry. 

And Faramir could feel his face burning with embarrassment, although that heat was quite a distant second to his still flaming rear! Once he’d learned that he was to be spanked by his true-father whom he greatly respected, and during that sound lessoning over Aragorn’s knees, Faramir had been too focused on what was happening to him to even remember that all of it would have been overheard by both Legolas and Gimli! But now . . . he was utterly humiliated on the one hand, for having overheard Legolas’ spanking, Faramir had all-too-good of an idea of how young and foolish he must have sounded while he had yelped, howled, and cried his way through his all-too-thorough bottom warming. On the other hand, he felt it almost served him right, for having felt so fortunate and slightly superior during Legolas’ spanking. At the very least, they’d gotten into this trouble together, and they both now knew that they’d paid for it together. 

With all of that in mind, Faramir managed a very self-conscious smile from where he stood still half in the circle of Aragorn’s arms, and a soft, “I’m sorry, Legolas. This was far from the best way to show you Minas Tirith.” 

Aragorn and Gimli both snorted at that. Legolas summoned a half-smile and graciously replied, “Don’t worry about it, Faramir. It was my idea, after all.” 

Faramir turned back to Aragorn, “Can we show Legolas more of the city another time, Aragorn? I feel badly that all he’s seen on this visit are the gardens and the Shades, and that was . . .” Faramir shuddered, “fairly awful.” 

“I suppose so,” Aragorn answered, still seeming reluctant to let Faramir go, “If the two of you behave yourselves for a while, of course. And if Gimli agrees.” 

Gimli gave Legolas a quelling frown, but something in Legolas’ pleading expression must have softened him a little. After a moment, the dwarf conceded, “Perhaps, in a few weeks. Legolas will be spending some time with me, readying for construction on the wall.” 

“I see,” Aragorn said, and Faramir noticed that he was hiding a smile, “I find myself somewhat envious of you, Gimli. Faramir’s schedule is entirely too packed for it to be possible for me to keep an eye on him myself at all times. I will have to trust to others to help me with that.” 

Faramir blushed at the very thought of being forced to spend every moment with the King, as nice as it normally was to spend time with Aragorn! Nor was he at all opposed to spending more time with the King, even under these circumstances. But Faramir felt badly for Legolas, in part because Aragorn had been insensitive enough to call attention to it. Aragorn, Faramir had noticed, treated Legolas much the same way he treated he Elrohir and Elladan Elrondion, or Magordan, Orohael, and Ethiron, as long as they were in relative private. Aragorn would tease them more than a fair bit if they had stepped on his toes, or even worse, worried him. Faramir had not before thought about what that might mean for him, now that he’d made the King worry so much over him. 

Thinking of that, Faramir gently pulled himself away from Aragorn’s embrace. And it did take a bit of a tug! Which was nice, in a way, but standing apart from Aragorn, Faramir noticed for the first time that he was still clad in only his undershirt. Blushing furiously, he waved towards the chair he had laid the rest of his clothes over. “With your leave, Sir?” he asked Aragorn.

“Aye, lad. Go ahead and get dressed.” Aragorn allowed, “And then you and Legolas can repair your appearances in the wash room,” Aragorn nodded towards that door, “But after that, I believe that Arwen will want us all to join her and our guests for dinner.” 

Legolas groaned in dismay, and Faramir felt like doing the same. He could feel his face flaming all afresh, though it still had nothing on his burning backside! He reached for his small clothes and leggings. Normally he would sit down to pull them on, but sitting down was quite out of the question at the moment. Given that, he pondered how to best re-clothe himself while retaining as much dignity as possible. Then Faramir paused as he realized that his white silk undershirt was thin enough that his very red bottom might well have been clearly visible right through it. He glanced over his shoulder in dismay, and then couldn’t help groaning a little as he realized that he had indeed been unknowingly displaying his well-spanked bottom to both Legolas and Gimli. 

Apparently following along with Faramir’s chain of thought, Aragorn chuckled and then gave Faramir’s nearer bottom cheek a quick, playful swat. Under normal circumstances, it would have barely stung. But now, after such a thorough spanking, it was enough to make Faramir yelp in protest. In fact, he would have put down his leggings and rubbed at the renewed pain, save that the entire area was still too tender for rubbing to sound like a good idea! 

“Don’t worry, Faramir,” the King teased, “Gimli and Legolas have both seen a red bottom before. In fact, Legolas is sporting one right now! The two of you could look in the washroom mirror and compare shades of red, if you’re so inclined.” 

“Estel, you’re a toad,” Legolas complained, and far from shushing him, Gimli, too, gave Aragorn a disapproving look. 

“That’s enough of that,” Gimli scolded the King, “They’ve paid for their mistakes. It’s over and done with.” 

“My apologies, Faramir, Legolas,” said Aragorn, although his gray-blue eyes were still dancing mischievously, “As Legolas can no doubt tell you, it is not so long since I myself was in your position. Nor did my older foster-brothers ever spare my dignity!” 

“Elladan did, sometimes,” said Legolas, with a shy smile that said he forgave Aragorn for acting like a toad. 

“But Elrohir, never,” Aragorn and Legolas concluded at the same time, then smiled at one another again. 

“Faramir, why don’t you get re-dressed in the wash room?” Aragorn suggested, “Legolas can give you a hand if you need.” 

That seemed like a better idea then trying to figure out a way to put his clothing back on without sitting down, which Faramir definitely wanted to avoid for a good while! 

Legolas offered a steadying hand for Faramir to get re-dressed without Faramir even having to ask. 

“I really am sorry,” Faramir said again, after finding cloths in the cabinets for both of them to wash their faces, “I should have thought of asking Arwen or maybe even my cousin Amrothos to help us put together a whole escort in order to go on our errand safely. It just seemed like something we could handle on our own, and . . . I think I’ve felt a little pent-up in the city these past few months. I wanted an adventure too much to think it through all the way.” 

“Me, too,” Legolas agreed, after making a face, “But there’s no chance of Gimli letting me go anywhere interesting for a while. And until we get organized for re-planting and re-designing the gardens, he’s going to have me stay by his side.” The teenaged elf rolled his eyes to express his disgust with that fate. 

“Maybe we can convince him to let you free,” Faramir proposed, as he tried to finger-comb his hair into some semblance of order, “At least to spend time with me. It’s not like I’ll be going anywhere without at least four guards/child-minders for a good while myself.” 

Legolas laughed, “Faramir, please don’t take offense at this, but your work is even more boring than Gimli’s! At least with him I’ll be outside looking at the wall sometimes, instead of staying inside stuffy rooms poring over dusty scrolls.” 

Faramir couldn’t help but smile sadly, “You sound like Boromir. And you look fairly normal.” Faramir added, wishing that they both still felt as triumphant – and pain-free - as they had what felt like days ago, getting ready for dinner the first time. But at least they didn’t have to worry about hiding what they’d been up to all day anymore! 

Legolas scrutinized his own reflection, and then made a face at himself in the mirror. “I look like I was crying and then washed my face.” 

Faramir shrugged and re-tied his hair back, “It’s the curse of fair skin. We’ve done our best.”

“We still look like . . . well, we look like exactly what happened to us just happened,” Legolas complained. 

“Well,” Faramir said philosophically, “It’s not as if the poor guards and whoever else got drawn into looking for us don’t deserve to see us suffer a little.” 

With a sigh, Legolas nodded his agreement to that, “I just hope that dinner is over so that we don’t have to try to sit through it.”

Faramir winced at the very thought of sitting anywhere! Then his stomach grumbled, reminding him that it had been hours and hours since he’d last eaten. 

Eyes wide, Legolas marveled, “You cannot possibly be hungry again!” 

With a shrug and a smile, Faramir confessed, “I’m almost always hungry. I think I’m growing again. Boromir got to be 6’4. I always thought I’d be shorter than him, but . . . maybe not.” 

“Aragorn is 6’6,” Legolas pointed out, “But he is the tallest man I have ever met. Still, he wasn’t much taller than you when he was eighteen. He kept growing until he was twenty-five.”

“Hmm,” said Faramir, looking down at his feet to hide his thoughts about that. “Well, I guess it is time to go face the music.” 

They left the washroom to find Aragorn and Gimli deep in discussion, with the bag of pipe weed sitting on Aragorn’s desk beside them. 

“There you are,” Aragorn greeted them, “Just in time to help us make a decision.” 

“Hmph,” Gimli snorted, “You know that they’ll say that they’ve learned their lesson.” 

Faramir tilted his head inquisitively, carefully considered Gimli and Aragorn, then asked, “Please don’t throw the pipe weed away.” 

“Throw it away!?” Legolas half-asked, half-exclaimed. 

“We won’t,” Aragorn assured them, “But if anything like this ever happens again . . .” 

“It won’t!” Faramir and Legolas both hastened to reassure him. 

“See that it doesn’t,” Gimli told them sternly, after giving Aragorn a grudging nod. 

Aragorn grinned, and tossed the bag of pipe smoke to Legolas, saying, “There you are, Trouble. You can give it to Frodo and Samwise. They’ll see that it gets distributed fairly to all of us addicts.” 

Faramir exchanged a questioning look with Legolas. 

“Yes,” Aragorn answered their unspoken question, “All of our hobbit brethren are in the large dining room in the King’s House, along with most of the other folk who helped look for the two of you today. Our hobbit friends did their part, too. Now, come along. We wouldn’t want to keep them waiting,” he teased. 

“I can see now why your brothers and Captain Ethiron say that you have an unwholesome sense of humor, Aragorn,” Faramir complained, though he did not object to Aragorn putting an arm around his shoulders on their way to the King’s House. 

They spoke of inconsequential matters on the way there. Faramir appreciated Aragorn working hard to fill the silence. He was no small amount nervous to greet an entire large room of people who had spent the day fruitlessly searching for him, and who probably knew – or at least had a good idea – of the consequences he -and Legolas – had just incurred for their thoughtlessness and recklessness. 

The guards and Citadel staff they passed along their way all took pains to greet Faramir and Legolas, and most also said how glad they were to see them both well. Faramir was fairly sure that some of them guessed that he’d just spent some time bottom-up over the King’s knee. He was doing his best to walk normally, which was quite difficult! The mere motion of walking rubbed his tender buttocks against his silk underthings and the tight leggings he wore over them, which rekindled the flame that Aragorn had so thoroughly lit on Faramir’s backside. Despite Faramir’s best intentions and utmost care, he was limping a little by the time they reached the large dining room on the third floor of the King’s House, and he thought that Legolas was probably in no better straits. 

Aragorn gave Faramir’s shoulders one final half-hug, then whispered, “Courage!” to both Faramir and Legolas, before nodding to the guards to open the double-doors. 

A cheer went up amongst the gathered assembly when they saw Faramir and Legolas. Faramir’s face was glowing with embarrassment, but he still wondered whether he should say something to thank the crowd. Unsure, he glanced helplessly towards Aragorn. 

The King patted Faramir’s shoulder and winked at him, then raised his hands to quell the tumult of laughter and greetings. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, friends all,” Aragorn began, speaking more loudly than his normal wont so that he could be heard in all corners of the large room, “Faramir and Legolas thank you very much for your concern for them and for your kind efforts today. They have conveyed to me that they wish to apologize to all of you for the troubles you took, and that they wish to invite all of you who would care to join in smoking the fine pipe weed that they acquired at great personal effort and expense!” 

Another cheer went up amongst Samwise, Merry, Pippin, and the northerner guards and new-made nobles. Even Mithrandir raised his glass in salute. 

Arwen, on the other hand, shook her pretty head at the both of them. Still clad in brown-gray leggings and a green tunic with her hair in braids, she looked much younger than she normally did in her elegant dresses. Legolas tossed the pipe weed towards Samwise, and then Faramir caught him by the hand to tug him over to apologize to Arwen. 

“We’re sorry, Arwen,” Faramir said, “We should have asked you for help and a proper escort instead of going off on our own!” 

“I’ve already promised not to do it again,” Legolas added penitently. 

Arwen put her hands on her hips and regarded them sternly for a moment. Then she laughed and threw an arm around each of them. 

“As long as you’re both more careful in the future, you’re forgiven,” she told them, “and thank you, Faramir for calling me by name!” Conspiratorially, she added, “There’s a carafe of coffee over on that table, and if you move quickly, you can get some before Aragorn is done talking to my newly-arrived brothers!” 

Faramir and Legolas both winced. 

Legolas asked worriedly, “Elrohir and Elladan are here?” Looking around, he saw them by Aragorn, and winced again. 

“They won’t bother you, Tithen-Las,” Arwen promised, “And if they do, you tell them that I’ll tell Ada Elrond about the fracas at the Tipsy Miller Inn if they don’t lay off.” 

That restored Legolas’ self-confidence almost magically, “What happened at the Tipsy Miller Inn?” he inquired brightly. 

“If you stay out of trouble for the next two months,” Arwen promised, “Then I’ll tell you. But only if you don’t tell Ada Elrond unless the twins do something miserable. Deal?” 

“Deal,” Legolas agreed, a sunny smile on his face despite his slightly uncomfortable stance. An uncomfortable stance that Faramir shared, as he looked wistfully towards the steaming coffee. 

“Why are you hesitating, Faramir-muin?” Arwen asked with some concern. 

Faramir shook his head, “I don’t really want to do anything else that Aragorn disapproves of tonight,” he explained sadly. 

Arwen crossed her arms and glared at her husband. “Go have your coffee,” she instructed Faramir firmly, “I’ll deal with him.” 

“No, really, it’s fine,” Faramir started, but Arwen was already halfway across the room. 

“Don’t trouble yourself over it, Faramir,” Legolas said kindly, “Aragorn is hardly going to spa . . . I mean, er, take you to task so sternly, as it were, over something as minor as coffee. He’s not like that.” 

With that assurance from someone who seemed to know Aragorn fairly well, Faramir did go ahead and help himself to a full cup of coffee. Then he looked around for Legolas, who seemed to be getting a lecture from Frodo. Knowing that the ringbearer did tend to take things like this rather seriously, based on having gotten a talking-to from Frodo himself after he helped some of the younger archivists to retrieve scrolls out of damaged parts of the archives, Faramir went over to help his elven friend face the music. 

“And you, Faramir!” Frodo scolded as Faramir joined them, “How could you do something so foolish! Going out onto the Pelennor and all the way down to the Anduin, just the two of you! And fighting bandits without your bow!” 

Faramir winced and asked, “So, you heard about the bandits?” 

“Everyone heard about the bandits, Faramir,” Pippin spoke up helpfully, “You see, Beregrond’s nephew Taranir is part of the guard company which was stationed at the docks today, and he told Borlas who told everyone about how you and Legolas captured four bandits single-handedly! And that the guard company was able to capture another half-dozen bandits to the north because of you!” 

“That’s no excuse, Pippin!” Frodo reprimanded the youngest hobbit, “Faramir and Legolas could have been very badly injured or even killed, and for what?” 

“But, Frodo,” Pippin protested, “It’s Long Bottom Leaf!”

“I wouldn’t care if it was old Bilbo’s private stash!” Frodo said firmly, “I, for one, won’t partake of any of it.” 

“Oh, come now, Mister Frodo,” Samwise chided gently, “It’s over and done with and I’m sure that Gimli has had plenty to say to Legolas about it already.” 

“More than plenty,” Legolas mumbled unhappily. 

“Ha!” Pippin laughingly commented, “Both Legolas and Faramir look like they were spanked something fierce! Surely that’s punishment enough without you adding to it, Mister Baggins!” 

The embarrassment that artless comment caused Faramir had his cheeks blazing again. He took another sip of coffee to have something to do, and focused on avoiding everyone’s eyes. 

Frodo sighed. But then he did, to Faramir’s relief and probably Legolas’ as well, accept a pipe and a pinch of pipeweed from Samwise. 

“I hope that you two have learned your lesson,” Frodo told Legolas and Faramir somberly, “A friend’s momentary pleasure is not worth risking your life over!” In a disappointed tone, Frodo added, “And Faramir, I thought that we’d had this talk already.” 

“We did,” Faramir said urgently, “And the archivists and I haven’t gone into anymore partially collapsed buildings after scrolls since then! But please, keep your voice down!” 

Legolas chuckled, “So that’s where you found those scrolls for Frodo that the ancient fellow said were probably lost for good.” From the expression on Legolas’ face, he wanted to tease Faramir about how much more cautious Faramir had become about Aragorn learning things now that Faramir knew that he, too, was risking getting taken over someone’s knee if he stepped out of line. Fortunately, Legolas kept his mouth shut. 

“That ancient fellow,” Faramir corrected primly, cautiously looking around to make sure that Aragorn hadn’t overheard Frodo, “is Chief Archivist Arradon. He’s a very nice man, if also a very opinionated one.” 

Indeed, Arradon and Faramir were currently arguing over whether it was necessary to tell Aragorn about how Faramir’s mother Finduilas had taken advantage of him, and how her crime had resulted in Aragorn now having a mostly-grown son. Faramir’s position was that the whole matter was ancient history, and that it would benefit no one to have it made public. Master Arradon’s position was that Finduilas had made his predecessor promise to tell Thorongil the whole truth of the matter should he ever return to Gondor, and that an heir presumptive would be a comforting thing to have while Gondor and Arnor waited for the birth of an heir apparent. Master Arradon, who was himself a father, also felt that a man had the right to know that he had a son. Faramir’s argument against that last point was that a man also had the right to a life of peace with his wife, without knowing that he’d been taken advantage of and forced to betray her. 

So far, Master Arradon had agreed to keep his peace until Aragorn had been on his throne for a year. Faramir hoped to convince him to let the matter rest in perpetuity, but there was enough time between now and that deadline that he wasn’t letting himself worry over it. Still, the very thought was something he needed to banish from his mind before he ran into Aragorn, Arwen, her brothers, or even his cousin Amrothos. Imrahil was also able to read a man’s heart in his eyes, and Amrothos might have inherited that. So Faramir made his excuses and stepped out onto the balcony. The cool air was welcome on his hot face, and the quiet, disturbed only by the singing of crickets and night birds and the distant sounds of the city, was soothing as well. 

The door from the dining room opened again. Faramir turned to face the new arrival, and smiled to see that it was Eowyn, tugging Legolas along with her. When she’d brought them even with Faramir, Eowyn released Legolas. Then she put her hands on her hips, and told both of them sternly, “The next time that you’re going on an adventure, invite me, will you?” 

Faramir and Legolas exchanged a baffled look. 

“Um, Eowyn,” Legolas began, “You really wouldn’t have wanted to have been involved in this one!” 

Eowyn rolled her pretty corn-flower blue eyes. Faramir couldn’t help but notice how the shade of her eyes matched the blue of her underskirt, or how the star-sapphire Lady Galadriel had given to Eowyn glittered boldly just above her pert breasts. 

“I could have kept the two of you out of trouble!” Eowyn protested, “I would have known to ask Arwen, or maybe Prince Amrothos, to help search for the pipe weed. And some of my friends amongst the younger riders would have been game to help, too.” 

“How do you know Amrothos?” Faramir asked, not liking the idea of beautiful Eowyn spending time with his dashing adult cousin. 

“He likes betting on horse races,” Eowyn explained. Turning to Legolas, she asked, “Can you please give me a moment alone with Faramir, Legolas?” 

“Gladly,” said Legolas, though he smiled as he said it, “I don’t need any more lectures tonight, Eowyn! He’s all yours.” 

As soon as the balcony door closed behind Legolas, Eowyn stood up on her tip toes, reached a slender, calloused hand up to rest on Faramir’s neck in order to pull his face down towards hers. Then she kissed him. Really kissed him, and not just the pecks on the cheek she’d given him before. 

At first it was a pleasant shock, but the surprise had Faramir almost too frozen to respond. But he quickly warmed to the challenge. It was his first real kiss, so he wasn’t absolutely sure that he was doing it right, but it felt amazingly good. Eowyn seemed pleased as well. Without moving her mouth away from his, she moved her other hand to his side, just above his belt. He took that as permission to place his hands on her sides, just above her waist. She was such a powerful swordswoman, but her waist was so tiny that he could almost span it with his hands! 

The click of the balcony door had them flying apart nervously, but quite reluctantly. 

“Ah, I’m so sorry, Faramir, Lady Eowyn,” Faramir’s squire Herion said apologetically, a friendly if embarrassed smile on his handsome face, “I’m just going to back into the dining room, and pretend that I saw nothing.” As he walked away, he mimed sewing his lips shut. Faramir mouthed a quick thank-you, and turned his attention back to Eowyn. 

“Not that I’m complaining,” he asked softly, with what he was sure was quite a silly smile, “But what brought this on? The last time I asked you to marry me, you told me to wait until I turned twenty and ask you again!” 

Eowyn tossed her pretty blond hair, which was braided half-up with ribbons and small, twinkling gems in the elven style. Then, instead of answering Faramir’s question, she asked one of her own, “What do you think of Lady Alusina?” 

“Alusina?” Faramir asked, taken aback and rather confused. “She’s a sweet girl. We had the same governess, our mutual cousin Lindorie of Lamedon. Cousin Lindorie asked me to look out for Lusy in Minas Tirith, but fortunately Arwen seems to be taking care of that. Alusina can’t seem to speak to me without giggling, so it’s hard to have a real conversation with her. And we don’t really have much in common.” 

“Good,” said Eowyn, her displeased expression softening, “She’s half in love with you, you know.” 

“Oh, no,” Faramir said, fighting the urge to slap his forehead in exasperation, “Boromir said that she was, but I’d really hoped not!” With another smile, he added, “I like my women better-armed, and more assertive.” 

“But you fought a duel for her,” Eowyn pointed out, not quite smiling again. 

“Because she’s a friend,” said Faramir, “She’s a nice girl, and Squire Luchanar was an absolute ass to her. I would have done the same for anyone who’d been wronged like that,” Faramir emphasized, wanting to make it very clear that he’d never considered Alusina in any romantic light. 

“You’re a good man, Faramir,” Eowyn praised him, her eyes shining with affection and also, Faramir thought, a little bit of relief. 

“And a lucky one,” Faramir replied, daring to lift a hand to stroke a stray wavelet of white-blond hair away from Eowyn’s soft cheek. 

She caught his hand before he could take it away, and boldly put it back on her side. “I’ll wait for you, until you turn twenty,” she promised, standing on her tip toes again to give Faramir another kiss. 

This time he had a better idea of what he was doing, and so did she. He must have been doing something right, because she moaned in pleasure, and pressed her delicious, curvy, muscular body closer to his. This time neither of them noticed the balcony door opening. The first they knew that they weren’t alone in any more is when Aragorn cleared his throat, very loudly. 

They sprang apart again, both blushing furiously. 

Aragorn’s blue-gray eyes were twinkling mischievously, and he looked almost like he was stifling a laugh. When Faramir saw that, he relaxed a little. He’d been expecting a scold, or even worse, another spanking, for daring to take such a liberty with a lady! Even if Eowyn had been an enthusiastic participant in the liberty. 

Eowyn tilted her head challengingly at the King, and said, “It doesn’t matter if we kiss, because we’re going to get married when Faramir is old enough anyway.” 

Aragorn did chuckle fondly at that, “I have no objection, Eowyn. But your brother would walk around like a bear with a sore tooth all night if he’d been the one to come upon the two of you just now. So I would suggest more discretion in the future.” 

With another tilt of her head, this one thoughtful, Eowyn said, “I’ll ask Arwen for help.” 

Faramir thought that was a very promising idea, and it even got a blush out of Aragorn! And the King hardly ever blushed. 

“You do that,” Aragorn encouraged Eowyn, “My love approves of you and Faramir, and of young love in general. I’m sure that she’d be happy to help. But for now, I need a moment with Faramir.” 

“But you get Faramir all of the time!” Eowyn complained, “He’s constantly in meetings with you, and he was gone all day today!” 

“That last,” Aragorn pointed out archly, “was not my fault. But I will promise to help Arwen with whatever scheme she comes up with to aid the two of you, if you will promise to shoo people away from the balcony door for the next few minutes.” 

Eowyn considered that for a moment, then asked, “Will you also talk to Eomer? He doesn’t want me to get married at all.” 

That got another chuckle out of the King, “No brother ever thinks that anyone in the world is good enough for his sister,” he told Eowyn, “But yes, I will speak with him.” 

“Thank you,” she said. She gave Faramir a hug and a quick kiss on the lips, then left him alone with the King. 

“Did I do something wrong?” Faramir asked, wondering if Aragorn was upset with him for the coffee, or for kissing Eowyn, or even worse, for going into partially collapsed parts of the archives to help the younger archivists retrieve important scrolls. 

“No, Faramir, nothing at all,” Aragorn assured him, walking over to place a hand gently on Faramir’s right shoulder. “In fact,” he continued, “I wanted to make it clear to you, as apparently it was not, that I am not going to punish you so harshly as I did tonight for anything save risking your own life without dire need.” 

“You weren’t harsh,” Faramir objected, blushing all over again, “Today, all of today, was an egregious misjudgment on my part.” 

“I was harsh,” Aragorn disagreed firmly, “And I will be that harsh again, if you ever do anything so dangerous and foolhardy again. Which you likely will, at some point,” the King added, with a wry, affectionate smile, “You are young, and I was doing stupid things on a semi-regular basis until I was well over three times your age. But,” the King continued, “I would never spank you for sneaking a cup of coffee. Or for staying up late into the night reading, which I know you do from time to time. Or at least not until that had been going on for long enough to affect your health. And I’d give you a warning first. At least one, so,” Aragorn concluded, reaching out to ruffle Faramir’s hair, “stop worrying about that. I’m not going to turn into a bully, Faramir.” 

“Thank you,” said Faramir shyly, “I wasn’t really worried about that, or rather, I was, but if I’d thought it through, I wouldn’t have been, I mean.” Faramir frowned, not sure if that had really made sense. 

Aragorn reached out to cup the side of Faramir’s face in his broad hand, “We’re still getting accustomed to one another, really, you and I. I’ll do my best to be patient with you. And I know you’ll do your best to be patient with me. But please do me a favor, and ask when you’re unsure or uneasy about something.” Aragorn made a face, “I don’t like getting in trouble with my wife for being unkind to you.” 

“Oh, no!” Faramir exclaimed, “I didn’t mean for that!” 

Aragorn laughed, “Don’t trouble yourself over it, Faramir! I deserved the scold for not having thought to reassure you myself! But just, in the future, remember to ask.” 

“I’ll try,” Faramir promised, feeling rather sadly sure that Aragorn would only be this involved in his life until Uncle Imrahil got back. But Faramir was practical in nature, and so he decided to just enjoy this feeling of being part of Aragorn’s and Arwen’s family while it lasted. 

“Good,” Aragorn praised, “Now come back to the party, and eat something. You can stand instead of sit, but you need to eat something substantial. You’re still growing, after all.” 

Faramir grinned back, “That’s what I tell Legolas! He’s not that sympathetic. I get the impression that he thinks I’m more than tall enough.” 

Aragorn stood back and looked Faramir over for a moment, pursing his lips in thought, “I think you’re going to grow at least another inch, maybe more,” he judged. 

“Think of how far I’ll be able to shoot an arrow if I do!,” Faramir enthused. 

With a laugh, Aragorn caught him around the shoulders with an arm again, and guided him back into the dining room. 

There was a bounty of food available in the dining room, even this late after the proper dinner hour. Faramir more than ate his fill, and even got a second cup of coffee as well. Noting Aragorn’s arched eyebrow when he was at the carafe, he did limit himself to a half cup, and added a generous amount of milk as well. That got him a nod of approval. 

All in all, the party wasn’t as bad as Faramir had feared. He managed to avoid sitting for most of it, which he noticed that Legolas did as well. There was a fair amount of teasing, not only from Pippin, but also from Herion, whom Faramir had to admit had a right to it after getting interrogated by Aragorn for the better part of an hour regarding Faramir’s whereabouts. The younger guards got in a fair amount of ribbing as well, but they backed off when Gimli asked them brusquely what time they had to be on duty in the morning. 

Something that Faramir actually liked was that Aragorn didn’t seem minded to let go of Faramir for very long at all. He was constantly putting an arm around Faramir’s shoulders, or a hand on his shoulder. It was very nice. When the party wound down and Faramir became so tired that he either had to sit down or fall down, it was Aragorn who tugged Faramir gently onto a settee beside him, angling Faramir’s descent so that he was half-leaning against Aragorn’s side, with most of the weight off of his still tender rear. 

While he sat beside Aragorn, Faramir tried to pay proper attention to the conversation between the King, Gimli, Arwen and Elrohir Elrondion concerning cavern safety and the relative merits of different metals for working mithril. But despite Faramir’s best efforts, he started nodding off. Legolas didn’t look much more awake where he sat on the floor with his head resting against Gimli’s knee. 

“You know,” Faramir heard Aragorn saying through a pleasant haze of exhaustion, “I think that part of the problem is that our fine young men are bored. Perhaps we should give them a turn riding sweep patrols on the Pelennor. What say you, Faramir?” 

“Umm,” said Faramir, who had been mostly asleep, “Too many petitions, no time.” 

“We need to hire you more help, then, Faramir,” Elrohir said, his gray eyes gleaming with excitement, “then you can go out with us and we can see how much your sword work has improved since we last practiced with you.” 

“Legolas isn’t going unless I go too,” Gimli said firmly.

Legolas awoke enough to look up at Gimli pleadingly, “Will you, Elvellon? At least once in a while? I would really like to do something useful.” 

“But laddie, the work you’re doing with the gardens is useful!” Gimli protested, “And I could truly use your help as well. These human stone masons mostly don’t know what they’re doing.” 

“Please,” said Faramir around a yawn, “Don’t say that where Master Enedon can hear. I have nightmares where he sits at my office and whines at me for an eternity about not getting to be in charge of rebuilding the gates.” 

“Send him to me next time,” Aragorn urged, his slate gray eyes dancing mischievously. 

“No, no, Estel,” Elrohir scolded, “You need to play the good, responsible King.” 

Arwen laughed, “Oh, Elrohir, you only say that because you haven’t had the displeasure of meeting this fathead. I’ll put my head together with Elladan and Lady Ynithe, and see if we can think of a very proper, polite way for Faramir to get rid of him.” 

“I think that Lord Cow-Meat-Ear is worse than the stone mason man,” Legolas said, “Can there be some polite way of getting him not to come to meetings that I have to be at?”

Everyone except for Faramir burst into laughter, and even Faramir smiled. 

“It’s Calihmetar,” he reminded Legolas. 

Aragorn was brushing tears of mirth away from his eyes, “I think I much prefer Legolas’ version of his name.” 

“I do, as well,” Gimli said, stroking his broad hand over Legolas’ braids, “And I think that I can make some time to go out on sweep patrols with you, lamb. Once we get the hiring done, at least.” 

“And by that point, the planting materials from Imladris and the Greenwood should just about be here,” Elrohir noted, “And Legolas will be busy hiring staff himself to work on the gardens.” 

“Properly escorted and guarded, of course,” Aragorn quickly added, likely seeing the concern on Gimli’s face. 

“Yes, he certainly will be!” Gimli agreed, “I’ll make sure of it myself.” 

Legolas groaned, but didn’t otherwise object. He just laid his head back down against Gimli’s knees. Legolas’ eyes half-closed in pleasure as Gimli began stroking his braids again. The elven teen looked to Faramir rather like a contented blond cat. 

That was just about the last thing Faramir remembered about the evening. He woke up abruptly when someone picked him up, but then relaxed when Aragorn said softly, “Shh, lad. It’s just me. Here, do you want to walk? You can lean on me.” 

“I want to walk,” Faramir decided, even though being carried was a little nice, “Where are we going?” 

“Your new room,” Aragorn said, in a friendly but no nonsense fashion, “Your old rooms are being renovated, or at least that’s the public excuse until we can get the old tunnel retrofitted so that just anyone can’t come through it into your dressing room. For now you’ll stay in the suite next to mine and Arwen’s.” 

“Hmm,” Faramir said, not sure whether he liked the idea or not, but too tired to argue against it. 

Aragorn guided him up the stairs to the fourth floor, then through a series of doors into a bedroom overlooking the garden and the mountains. Arwen, whom Faramir hadn’t even noticed was with them until just then, materialized ahead of them and pulled back the covers. Aragorn led Faramir to the bed, and gave him a hand to help sit down. 

“Ow,” Faramir mumbled, as his sore backside came into contact with the bed. 

Arwen glared at Aragorn, who just chuckled. 

“You’ll feel better in the morning,” Aragorn assured Faramir, “For tonight, I’d recommend sleeping on your stomach.” To Arwen, Aragorn said, “Go ahead to bed, meleth. I’m going to stay with Faramir until he falls asleep.” 

Arwen kissed Faramir on the brow, and then her husband on the lips, and then slipped from the room with a whispered goodnight. 

“You don’t have to stay, Aragorn,” Faramir said, moving to lie down on his stomach as the King had suggested. “I’m not going to be awake for very long,” Faramir added sleepily. 

“I don’t doubt it, after the day you’ve had, young man,” Aragorn replied, his tone torn between affection and gentle censure, “But for now, I’m just going to sit here, smoke my pipe, and enjoy knowing where you are.” 

That seemed like an odd way to spend a night to Faramir, particularly when the King had his beautiful bride waiting in his bed, but it didn’t seem worth arguing about, either. So Faramir fell asleep to the soothing smell of pipe smoke, and the soft sound of Aragorn’s breathing.


	10. Sequel Announcement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sequel to One Good Turn, "Truth Revealed," is now being posted at: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/13948197/chapters/32105715

The Sequel to One Good Turn, "Truth Revealed," is now being posted at: 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13948197/chapters/32105715


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